The Rings in the Heart
by Skole
Summary: A follow-up to 'Tequila in the Anthropologist' - aiming to debunk the urban myth of the 'Moonlighting Curse' one chapter at a time. The dam has broken & the long term experiment commences, with the added challenge of a new case. Review your hearts out...
1. Milkshake

**The Rings in the Heart**

**Chapter 1 - My milkshake brings all the Booths to the yard**

**Disclaimers: **BONES is not mine. Just playing in their yard, because they're messing with my head. Abject apologies to Kelis.

**A/N: So I've finished some creative decision-making about this story – it will be a sequel, because the chance to embark on the tale of a longer term experiment was irresistible to my inner scientist. The setting is a couple of weeks following the conclusion of 'The Tequila in the Anthropologist'; a divergent post 100****th**** fic that goes where no member of the actual BONES writing team have ever been signed off to go before. There is also a case, with a solid scientific foundation.**

**The challenge to me as the author is to deliver an in-character piece that explores how B&B will evolve post the dam breaking. The challenge to you as the reader is to tell me whether or not you buy it.**

* * *

Royal Diner – midday

Booth and Brennan were sat at their usual table in the back corner of the diner, waiting for Angela to join them for lunch. They sat together on the same side of the table, a recent change of seating preference, with their chairs close enough that their limbs brushed together frequently. Brennan was sipping on a tall glass of water, while Booth was savouring a chocolate milkshake. Brennan shook her head with a small smile on her face.

"Do you know how many calories are in that milkshake, Booth?" she asked.

"No, I don't," he replied, raising his glass in salute to her, taking a mouthful and smiling like a little kid in milkshake nirvana. "Besides, I need to keep my strength up for you Bones" he added with a suggestive waggle of the eyebrows.

"Approximately six hundred and ninety calories. I have observed that your response to that milkshake is almost identical to that of Parker" Brennan offered. "Without the innuendo of course..." she added quickly.

Booth chuckled appreciatively.

"He's a chip off the old block, Bones."

Brennan brightened a little. She knew this one.

"Parker has inherited some of your behavioural traits," she translated.

"Alriiiight. You got it!" Booth held out his knuckles so she could bump them. Brennan was still a little unsure about navigating the complex and confusing rituals of mutual celebration in modern urban culture. She glanced at Booth for a look of reassurance and presented her own knuckles, smiling when Booth grinned in delight. He bumped his knuckles against hers.

Brennan glanced at Booth, a flash of consternation crossing her face. Booth bumped his shoulder into hers in a silent nod to his observation of her discomfort.

"What's on your mind Bones? he probed.

"I would appreciate it if the practice of _'knuckling'_ could remain one of '_our things'_ for the time being. My colleagues at the Jeffersonian would repeatedly distract me from my work with requests for this form of validation."

"It's a deal. Wanna' spit on your palm and shake on it?" teased Booth.

"That would be unhygienic Booth. We are about to eat" she replied.

Booth shook his head. _'Baby steps, big guy,' _he counselled himself, taking another swig of his milkshake and leaving frothy traces at the corners of his mouth.

The appearance of milkshake particulates around her favourite pair of lips was an opportunity too good to pass up. Temperance Brennan captured Booths' jaw in her hand, positioned his head at the optimal angle. She looked into his eyes and lowered her eyelids in a seductive manner, as she used a finger from her free hand to wipe way the excess from each corner of his mouth. Returning her direct gaze to his, she placed the frothy finger in her mouth impudently. Booth gave a low growl of frustration.

"Unfair, Bones! I so want to kiss you right now," he confessed as she freed his jaw.

"I suppose that you could categorise my actions as foreplay Booth, which incidentally burns approximately 130 calories per hour. I am simply assisting you avoid becoming fat from the consumption of high calorie milkshakes," she informed him.

A mischievous grin appeared on her face and she leaned in toward his ear, lowering her voice. "The actual act of coitus burns considerably more energy than foreplay, up to 385 calories per hour. I could calculate the requirements to burn off that milkshake in whatever combination of activities you prefer."

"Evil scientist!" reprimanded Booth, as he moved in toward her ear and murmured. "Do you know how incredibly hot it is when you use science like that Bones?"

.

Their attempt to burn a few extra calories before lunch was interrupted by a scraping noise from one of the chairs across the table as Angela Montenegro took a seat.

"Whatever you two are talking about, makes me think that you two were seriously considering skipping lunch" drawled Angela suggestively, as Booth and Brennan put on their game faces and sat up to face her.

Brennan clasped her hands together on the table in front of her to control her response. "We were talking about milkshakes Angela." Booth nodded in agreement and made an adjustment to his already straight tie.

"Oh yeah! The type that '_brings all the boys to the yard'_, right? Scoffed Angela.

"I don't know what that means Ange" replied Brennan.

"I know Sweetie, but I'd bet that Booth knows _exactly_ what that means" said Angela raising an eyebrow and nodding.

"Classy, Angela. Real classy," deflected Booth.

"So am I going to have to go and get the crowbar from my van to pry you two apart, or are we going to order lunch?" asked Angela.

"I would like to order lunch, and Booth apparently needs to maintain his strength, so he should eat something as well" commented Brennan.

"I'll bet he does, Sweetie" Angela murmured loud enough for Booth to hear but not loud enough to distract Brennan from whatever she was studying on the menu. The artist gave a low dirty chuckle as Booth ducked his head to look at his own menu.

Angela actually had a point.

"After considering my options, I will order a vanilla milkshake," pronounced Brennan.

"Good for you, Bren" said Angela. 'Milkshake' had _most definitely _become a code for sex.

Booth grimaced and whispered _"Hey!"_ out of the corner of his mouth at Brennan, who had a smile teasing the corner of her own mouth. He poked a finger at a spot on her ribcage that he knew was sensitive, and after Brennan squirmed, giving a low chuckle; he received a retaliatory smack to his fingers.

"Ah. Young love!" mocked Angela wistfully.

.

**A/N: So how am I doing so far?**


	2. Mummy lurve

**The Rings in the Heart**

**Chapter 2 – Mummy lurve**

**Disclaimer: **BONES belongs to FOX and a whole swag of really talented folks who don't need a day job.

**A/N: Thank you to all readers, particularly those who have alerted, favourited and reviewed so far.**

Anthropology Unit – The Jeffersonian Institute

Dr. Camille Saroyan placed her hands to the small of her back, wincing as her muscles bitterly complained about being abused; leaning over a gurney for three hours did that. This morning she had been working with Dr. Brennan and her assistant Mr Vaziri, finalising their findings for a Federal murder case which was going to trial next week. The process was dry, methodical, precise, and absolutely necessary.

Dr. Brennan, with her astounding attention to detail and Zen-like ability to focus for hours upon end, was in her element, whereas Cam was simply pining for the more tangible and visceral discoveries that a fresh autopsy delivered. Mr Vaziri hovered efficiently, basking in the radiance of his _Anthropology Idol,_ using his own considerable skill set to support and anticipate, and artfully adding his own commentary like an experienced back-up singer.

"If we are in complete agreement Dr. Saroyan, I will notify Booth that we have completed our forensic case for the trial. He can let Ms. Julian know" commented Brennan as she stripped off her gloves and threw them in the trash.

"I concur, Dr. Brennan. The evidence compiled by the Jeffersonian for this case well exceeds the minimum burden of proof requirements. I expect that the FBI will get their conviction" replied Cam, signing and initialling at a dozen flagged points on the documentation. Cam wished that she could charge by the signature, she would be a wealthy woman. Such was the lot of an administrator at the helm of a well-oiled machine like the Jeffersonian.

Dr. Brennan paused and studied Cam intently for a moment.

"Was there something else Dr. Brennan?" asked Cam, who no longer took any offense at that stare.

"Not relating to the case Dr. Saroyan. However, I do believe that your current back pain is related to a minor misalignment of a mid-thoracic infraspinatus ligament. I could make a slight adjustment..." offered Brennan.

Cam jumped into the pause. "That won't be necessary Dr. Brennan. My Chiropractor is extremely competent. Thank you for your offer though."

Brennan simply gave a curt nod of acknowledgement, completely non-plussed, and turned to Mr Vasiri to give additional instructions for packaging of the evidence prior to transfer to a secure storage facility. Cam re-checked the paperwork ready to hand to Dr. Brennan.

.

"Hey Bones! We've got a case" boomed a familiar voice across the platform, as the security system heralded Booths' arrival, by bleeping to grant him access.

A cog slipped in Cams' well oiled machine as the chaos factor, also known as Seeley Booth, arrived to interrupt the smooth efficiency of the lab. The man was a shit magnet, his presence inevitably led to the derailment of the order train. Hodgins and Angela appeared on the platform as if beamed in Star Trek style; such was the attraction of a new case in their otherwise academic existence.

"You're gonna love this one Bones" enthused Booth, as he approached the gurneys in the centre of the platform.

"I find it hard to believe that you can predict my preference for this case before I even know the details" responded Brennan in a distracted fashion. She was half perched on a stool and leaning over a workbench, reviewing and signing the paperwork that Cam had handed to her.

Booth approached her and leaned over to whisper a single word in her ear, as her ponytail caressed the side of his face in an unconscious welcome.

"Mummy"

Brennan looked up and turned her head to face Booth, their noses mere centimetres apart (or an inch for the imperialists). "As in mummified remains?" she asked, with piqued interest and just a hint of huskiness in her tone.

Everyone on the platform was now actively paying attention; a Mummy case always exacerbated their rivalry with the Egyptology Department. Cam groaned inwardly; the fallout of academic turf warfare always landed on her desk, inevitably in a steaming pile.

"Told you that you'd love it Bones," Booth teased. "And this one is almost _seven feet_ tall. Homeland security went on alert; they were told by local law enforcement that it was an _alien!_ Even the local coroner concluded that the remains had abnormalities that he couldn't explain."

.

"Wow! Now _I'm_ in love" Hodgins chimed in. Angela used her elbow to jab him in the ribs, grinning.

.

Brennan tossed her pen onto the workbench and stood to face Booth with a hand on her hip. "It is highly unlikely that the remains are non-human Booth. There are a significant number of scientifically valid explanations to explain most physiological abnormalities."

"That's what I told Hacker when he requested our input on the case. Well not _exactly _that...it wasn't as squinty as...what you said" added Booth helpfully with a charm smile on his face.

"Oh. I see," she capitulated with a small smile on her face, assuming a more relaxed posture. "So do we need to go out into the field, or are they shipping the remains here?"

A sharp intake of breath was heard from half a dozen staff on the forensics platform. Dr. Brennan had backed down from a conflict and looked for all the world like she had enjoyed it. Had she finally lost her immunity to the famous Seeley Booth charm smile?

.

"Wow, Hodgins. Did you see that?" whispered Angela.

"That is L.O.V.E., baby" murmured Hodgins.

"_The greatest happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved - loved for ourselves, or rather, loved in spite of ourselves_" quoted Arastoo Vaziri in a low voice.

Hodgins raised an eyebrow. "A Persian Ninja _Poet_? Dude, you have more layers than a French pastry" he said sardonically.

"Is that Victor Hugo, Arastoo?" asked Angela.

"Very good, Ms. Montenegro" said Arastoo with a smile.

.

Booth had pulled out his swag of oversized post it notes and flicked through them referring to the case details.

"The mummy was found in a tobacco curing shed in Pittsylvania, West Virginia. Now that the _'Men in Black'_ have handed jurisdiction to the FBI, local PD are holding the scene for us and have arranged accommodation, so we can make an early start tomorrow. We can drive there in less than five hours Bones, are you ready for a _road trip_?" challenged Booth.

Brennan assumed her lecturing demeanour. "Angela informs me that the culture of road trips not only involves travel, it is also combined with risk taking behaviours such as high levels of alcohol consumption, and unprotected sex."

"I don't think you'll have time for that Sweetie" said the information source herself.

"We could..._a'hem!_...make time, if you want to..." whispered Booth behind his hand pretending to clear his throat.

"Then I am sure that we can find something interesting to occupy our free time" replied Brennan. The dual message was not lost on Booth who subconsciously hooked a thumb behind his '_Cocky'_ belt buckle and kept his thoughts to himself. If Sweets had been present, he could have written a paper based upon his observations.

Brushing the back of Brennans' hand with his own in farewell, Booth decided it was time to get back to the Hoover building.

"Great. I'll pick you up at five, Bones. You might want to take a look at the X-rays and scans that the Pittsylvania M.E. e-mailed over. Hacker said that there was something that the squint squad would find _'spooky'_" Booth made air quotes with his fingers. "Sometimes I think that Hacker is an _'Agent Mulder'_ wannabe."

"I don't know who that is Booth. Have I met him?" asked Brennan.

"Never mind. See you soon" replied Booth as he departed.

.

Angela triggered the ensuing flurry of activity. "I'll get the files from the server and set up the scans on the screens in my office. Ten minutes, okay everyone?"

The team scattered.


	3. Goddess of the Realm of Hard Evidence

**The Rings in the Heart**

**Chapter 3**

**Disclaimer: **BONES does not belong to me. They would all have a hell of a long commute if they did!

.

The Squint Squad were gathered within the blue glow thrown off the giant screens in Angela's office, ready for the show and tell session. Dr. Saroyan was conveying how impressed she was at the thoroughness of the preliinary external examination of the remains, and the range of non-invasive tests that had been conducted by the Pittsylvania M.E.

Dr. Hodgins, triggered by the word 'alien' earlier on, was now in full conspiracy theory mode; he had asserted that the local officials had been coerced into doing exhaustive tests on the _'alleged alien mummy' _by the _'Men in Black'_, who had arrived stealthily in their black helicopters, in the dead of night. As per his usual articulate self, Hodgins made his case sound almost plausible. _Almost._

Dr. Brennan, _Goddess of the Realm of Hard Evidence_, put a stop to this diatribe by delivering her standard lecture on the place of conjecture in the lab; which in her opinion, should be dumped in a black plastic bag and placed in one of the gigantic Jeffersonian rubbish skips. Okay, those weren't her _exact _words, more of a layman's translation of her sentiment. Hodgins harrumphed and started to pout a little until Angela gave him the look that he privately refered to as the _'hairy eyeball'_, it featured a beady stare surrounded by scrunched up eyelashes. It meant that he was heading into danger territory, so Hodgins wisely decided to _'man up'_ a little and deal with it. There would be other opportunities to do some conspiracy dumpster diving on his own time.

.

A disembodied voice broke up the discussion.

"So, did you find out what got Hacker all fired up over this case, Bones?" It was Booth, whose image flickered to life on the screen via web link from the Hoover building.

"Ah! Now that Booth is here, we can start" Brennan announced unnecessarily, as scattered greetings of '_Hi Booth'_ emerged from those gathered. "Angela has commenced a detailed 3D reconstruction of the CT scan images, but these won't be ready for us to formally review until tomorrow via our scheduled teleconference at the crime scene. I should be able to substantiate some of the preliminary findings with the remains present. I can ascertain that the victim is male, early 40's, very tall stature at 206 centimeters…"

"What's that in American?" asked Booth.

"Approximately six feet, nine inches" she replied, instantly applying the conversion factor. "There are a number of skeletal anomalies that are clearly visible; narrow palate, thoracic scoliosis, lumbar spine abnormalities. The abnormal limb length ratio, plus the length of the metacarpals, phalanges and curvature of the 5th fingers are highly suggestive of an individual with Marfan's syndrome."

"So, not a Jaffa warrior then" cracked Hodgins, "Hacker will be disappointed."

"Hodgins, did you just _'Stargate'_ us?" asked Booth, shaking his head in disdain.

.

Brennan ignored the byplay, took a step closer to the screen tilting her head in concentration, searching for additional information. "The images do not show any evidence of injuries commonly attributed to an individual involved in warfare…significant past injuries are evident in the knees and ankles, these are likely to be related to sports rather than other forms of trauma. There is no clear cause of death from the information that has been provided to us so far."

Cam stepped forward and looked at the CT scan images from the thoracic cavity. "Dr. Brennan? I think that these images of the solid organs within the chest cavity are the ones which caused the initial panic."

"In issues pertaining to flesh, I defer to your expertise Dr. Saroyan" said Brennan, magnanimously giving up the floor to her colleague.

Cam rolled her eyes and gave a courtly nod of acknowledgement to Brennan. "The images of the organs within the chest are distorted by artifact, this commonly occurs when CT scanning machines encounter metallic objects. A lot of the artifact in these images is caused by the amalgam from the victims' dental work. Angela, could you bring up the image slices from the upper and mid thoracic area, focusing on the heart please? Booth, you should be able to see this in the new window on your screen."

Angela worked her technological magic with the small electronic tablet in her hand. An image built up, slice by slice on the screen. Using her artistic license, the heart muscle was shaded a fleshy pink and the rings became more pronounced, becoming shiny and metallic – it was very Hollywood. The distortion from the images radiated out like sunbeams from the two circular points of origin within the heart.

"Wow!" remarked Booth from his remote location. "Are those _metal _rings in the heart?"

"Almost right" replied Cam. She pointed at the circular objects on the screen. "These are surgically implanted mechanical heart valves, one atrial and one mitral valve, they look old-school, certainly not the newest generation introduced in the late '70's. So the victim probably had heart surgery as a teenager. There are also residual epicardial pacing wires in the chest cavity, suggesting that the victim had a pacemaker implanted at some point during his life. This would provide further evidence to support that the victim had Marfan's Syndrome as Dr. Brennan suggested."

.

Brennan had approached the desk where the webcam was mounted to make some notes relating to her findings on the hard copy file and tapped some comments into the electronic log as Cam was sharing her opinions.

Once Cam had finished her deliberations, Brennan looked down the barrel of the web-cam and spoke to Booth. She leaned in toward the camera, displaying a considerable view down her blouse to her audience of one at the Hoover building.

.

"I hope that Andrew isn't too disappointed about his alien theory being debunked, Booth. Marfan's syndrome is a relatively common genetic disorder" she informed him, with a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Abraham Lincoln is believed to have had the condition."

"A'hem…Hacker will survive, Bones. Honest Abe, huh? Wow!" Booth exclaimed a little too enthusiastically. Angela gave a snide chuckle; she had a patent pending on the Jeffersonian cleavage-cam.

"In that case, you should make your way over to the Jeffersonian so that we can commence our journey to the crime scene" said Brennan, taking her hair out of her ponytail and shaking it loose. Booth was now looking decidedly uncomfortable.

.

Cam cleared her throat to get the attention of the room. "I would just like to make a general announcement while I have the team in the room. The use of Jeffersonian bandwidth for video booty calls is not permitted. Thank you." Cam left the room shaking her head and muttering to herself. Hodgins ducked his head to hide a smirk and followed her out into the main lab.

.

"I will see you when you get here Booth. Don't be late." Her farewell delivered after dropping her voice half an octave. She turned to head off to her own office. Angela was glad that Cam hadn't witnessed that last exchange.

"Yeah, uh... Twenty minutes Bones. Make sure you're ready to roll. Couple of things to wrap up here…" replied Booth. His image turned to static.

.

Angela rushed over to the web console, wearing a wide smile, and selected a shortcut key that she had on her handheld controller, placing a booty call to the bug and slime guy, who should have reached his station by now.

.

**A/N: Apologies for the high ratio of science to fluff in this chapter, it's a plot progression thing which required squinty research to get it right (I feel like I am at work…). If it was pitched too technically, please feel free to review to say 'I don't know what that means...'**

**I promise more fluff next chapter, which should be infinitely less challenging to write – after all, how squinty can a road trip be? (Um...that is intended as rhetoric).**


	4. Product Placement Hell

**The Rings in the Heart**

**Chapter 4 – Product placement hell**

**.**

**Disclaimer: **Where BONES is concerned, I have no claim to their fame.

**A/N: Something a little more fluffy, ahem...to progress the developing relationship between our central protagonists. Warning: contains subtle product placements**

**.**

Office of Dr. Temperance Brennan – All Star Genius

17:00 sharp (she did say not to be late)

"Hey Bones, are you ready to roll?" asked Booth as he strode into her office.

"Come on in and shut the door behind you Booth" replied Brennan who was sat on the Ikea couch and did not turn around. Booth heard the determined tone in her voice, noted the tension in her posture, and complied; Bones had something on her mind that was failing to process. Anything that she couldn't control was the enemy. Booth realised that now, more than ever, that he was her 'go to guy' for social strategy; plus a number of additional fun pursuits lately.

Booth warily sat down on the Ikea couch with Brennan and waited to see what she would do next. For the past two weeks, they had found themselves in pleasantly uncharted territory. After such a prolonged period of mutual restraint and constraints, finally becoming unfettered was like being on a Disneyland rollercoaster ride; scary, exhilarating, trying to defy gravity, and the laws of physics all at once. She leaned into him and placed her head on his chest.

"Are you in need of a guy hug Bones?" he asked placing an arm around her.

"You know exactly what I need Seeley Booth...and it is not a _'guy hug'_" replied Brennan poking at his 'Cocky' belt buckle to punctuate her statement.

"Hey, hands off the merchandise lady!" Booth said in his best 'Tony' voice. "How about a kiss from my best girl?" Brennan gave a low chuckle.

"You are such a distraction..." she admitted, tilting her face up to look at him and bravely holding his gaze, even though she knew that it was her undoing.

"And publicly showing off your Victoria's Secret underwear to me over FBI monitored bandwidth is not distracting Bones?" countered Booth. He had already had words with the Cisco systems IT collaborative at the FBI, calling in some favours – the master footage had been handed over to him. At least Bones was not going to be featured in the _'Jugs of the Jeffersonian'_ calendar this year. His teasing made her smile in recollection, and relax a little. "Besides, is my distracting you such a bad thing?"

Brennan narrowed her eyes in thought, pondering the question and needing clarification. "Are we officially _'off the clock'_ Booth?"

Booth glanced at the Tag Heur clock on the wall and nodded in confirmation, a twitch of a smile forming in anticipation of her response.

"Not enough data to establish an opinion at this time," she replied, pulling him in for a kiss which involved a complex tongue crossover methodology. It was times like this that Booth thoroughly enjoyed donating his body to science. Booth was also secretly hoping like hell that Bones continued collecting her precious data for the next 30, 40, or 50 years.

As Seeley Booth contributed to the osculatory dataset, he considered that if his _'off the clock'_ response had been in the negative, all he would have gotten was saucy science talk and eye-sex as a consolation prize. Regardless, it was proving increasingly difficult for him to say 'no' to Bones as their bond became stronger. She would have accepted his call on the matter, either way, with the enduring equanimity that formed the root of her reasoning. Booth sometimes felt guilt, and it wasn't entirely irrational; with Bones it was too easy to manipulate her emotional responses, even if the outcome was mutually satisfactory – this was sadly one of the issues that had contributed to her disastrous 'track record' with men in the past.

After the passing of what was possibly the World's largest flotilla of Mississippi steamboats, their lips unlocked, both faces flushed, wearing mirrored smiles of wonderment. They had discussed this issue that very morning over a hurried Pop Tart breakfast. That a relatively tame act of a kiss could still trigger this powerful response from them collectively was a positive sign, undeniable proof that they remained compatible in spite of, and despite the risks to their commitment to a longer term 'experiment'.

"Do you think that will get us through until Pittsylvania?" asked Booth, referring to the kiss within the context of the hours of driving ahead of them.

"Absolutely not," shot back Brennan.

"Didn't think so," he responded with his head shaking in mock dismay. They would work something out. Booth moved to get up with a slight groan as his back twinged in complaint at the prospect of an evening at the wheel.

She reluctantly disengaged from their clinch on the Ikea couch and stood straightening her clothing, and looked around for her Colorado jacket, which she found on top of her North Face compact travel duffel, next to the feet of the mummified remains displayed in an environmentally-controlled display case.

.

Somewhere on the US-29

Booth gave a curse at a driver who had tried to break the laws of physics by attempting to simultaneously occupy the same space as his SUV.

"Is this large shiny SUV not conspicuous for you to notice pal?" he ranted at the driver of the Prius in the lane next to him. "Anyways, aren't those darn things supposed to _'keep you in your lane'_" Booth asked rhetorically, mimicing some ad that had plagued the airwaves since leaving D.C. late that afternoon.

Brennan stirred from her slumber, having nodded off before the outskirts of Arlington. She rubbed her face with her hands and sat up from her semi-curled up posture against the shoulder padding of the passenger seat.

"Where are we Booth?" she asked in a voice still husky from sleep.

"In product placement hell Bones, somewhere outside Charlottesville" he answered testily.

Brennan only understood half of what he had said, however, her question had been answered. She made a suggestion, it was a new skill that she was learning. "Should we stop there Booth? I need a bathroom and some food. You need rest and a Sam Adams beer".

Booth grunted non-committally, but gave a small nod and grinned in recognition of her effort to suggest.

"A massage? Some other form of stress relief? But only if I get to drive" added Brennan cheekily. She had no issues when it came to being suggest_ive_. What a difference a suffix made.

"Temperance the tough-talking temptress. You drive a hard bargain Bones, how could I resist an offer like that?" Booth asked, reaching over to smooth down her hair, which was mussed up from being drooled on while she slept.

"Driving the large shiny SUV will suffice Booth" she replied evenly as he changed lanes to take the next exit to find a rest stop.


	5. Sweet Seduction

**The Rings in the Heart**

**Chapter 5 – Sweet seduction**

**Disclaimer: **BONES does not belong to me. *sniff, sniff; sob*

**A/N: Sorry about the delay. A four letter word is responsible *WORK***

Seeley Booth was enjoying the company of two of his very favourite things in life. Bones, who was leaning up against his side encircled by his arm, and the homemade apple pie on the plate just placed in front of him. The past couple of weeks of his life had been more challenging than he could have imagined, yet more rewarding than he could have ever dared to dream. Booth had taken on many roles and responsibilities in his lifetime, cop, soldier, son, father, friend, parent, lover…in most cases, relying upon his natural gifts, instincts and training to succeed. The escalation of his relationship with Bones represented the ultimate challenge to him, the fruition of years of delayed gratification and the sublimation of many of his alpha male instincts towards her. Booth had fears for them both, and they were real enough to give him cold sweats when he awoke day after day, finding himself still in bed next to her. He likened his fear to that of caring for Parker as a tiny baby, such was the juxtaposition of fragility against the robust promise of new life, a new future.

Their waitress topped up their coffee cups as Booth savoured each mouthful of pie, absently rubbing his hand over the back of his partner, friend, lover, soul mate. Each time his hand ventured away from the long-established safety zone at the small of her back, Booth received the ultimate positive feedback – he was the luckiest guy in the world.

Brennan added sugar to her coffee and stirred absently; reveling in the mute comfort and solidarity transmitted in a simple touch. They were in this together. Their joint decision to commit to a longer term experiment in the absence of reasons not to do so, and the presence of a shed-load of alcohol had turned out to be exactly what was required. The following day, paradoxically sated and shell-shocked, they had simply got up and moved on – together. The experiment was in fact a social contract, created bespoke in terms that were acceptable to them both; and particularly to her as the token rationalist in the relationship. Having now christened every room of their respective apartments, she was looking forward to their first night alone tonight in a new place. It could have only been better if they had to go undercover. She gave a small shiver of excitement, as she outwardly observed the slowly shrinking slice of pastry encased cooked fruit, feeling irrationally envious of the attention that Booths' mouth was paying to it.

"Want some?" asked Booth, proffering some of his dessert on his fork. She turned her head away from the pie instinctively, wrinkling her nose up.

"According to Sweets, the offer of pie is an attempt to seduce me. We both know that that is not necessary, nor am I likely to develop any affinity for cooked fruit. Besides, the look that you are directing at me right now is sufficient to attract my attention" replied Brennan, placing her lips just above the edge of her coffee cup and blowing on the surface of the black liquid. She took an experimental sip.

"Hmm…" considered Booth, watching her lips tease the edge of the coffee cup, while he twirled the now empty fork between them. "Pie or Bones. Choices. Do I have to choose?" he put a little Parker-whine into his voice.

She smiled and took another sip of her coffee before placing the cup down on the table. Her now free hand snatched the fork from his hand, while leaning in toward his ear to murmur her response.

"The logic is simple Booth , I can help you with that decision."

Booth brushed his lips over hers in a ghost of a kiss. "But nothing is simple when it comes to you Temperance. It's a no-brainer" he commented as he pecked her lips a little more firmly.

"That is completely counterintuitive, but while you are in the process of actively seducing me, Sweets and his theories about pie have no validity" responded Brennan as she moved to tease his earlobe with her lips. Her words were squinty _'sweet nothings'_ to his ears.

With permission for active seduction granted, Seeley Booth got to work on a serious kiss whilst their coffee grew cold. What the hell did a twelve year-old know about seduction anyway?

* * *

Brennan looped her arm through Booths as they walked though the parking lot toward the SUV. After a simple roadside diner meal and a mutually satisfactory dessert, they were both feeling refreshed and almost ready to tackle the final leg of their journey to the crime scene.

"Your gait indicates that your back is troubling you again Booth" Brennan commented, giving his arm a squeeze.

"Can't hide anything from you, can I Bones?" said Booth with a small grin.

"Not where your body is concerned. The combination of our intimacy and my advanced training in human movement renders you powerless against me" she teased.

"You can say that again" admitted Booth as he pointed the keychain at the SUV to unlock the doors.

Brennan grabbed Booths' arm and forced him up against the door of the vehicle and she took his face in her hands.

"Please tell me why I have to say it again? Are you experiencing difficulties with your hearing Booth? We should attend the nearest hospital to arrange a PET scan of your brain" asserted Brennan wearing an expression of anguish, which was highlighted by the harsh lighting of the parking lot.

Booth pulled her into a rough hug and murmured into her hair "No, no, no, Bones. It's just an expression. It didn't mean…"

Brennan flailed a fist into his chest and gave an involuntary sigh of relief.

"Is your open heart troubling you Bones?" he asked.

She lifted her head from his chest and gave him a challenging look that softened as their eyes met.

"Perhaps" hedged Brennan unconvincingly. "I find myself irrationaly overprotective of your welfare. But I am confident that you can assist me through this Booth."

Booth applied his sovereign remedy to the situation by attempting to kiss her concerns into submission; Brennan retaliated by pushing him against the body of SUV enthusiastically. A crunch and sharp click emanated from Booths' lumbar region.

"Wow!" exclaimed Booth as he broke their kiss in surprise. He placed his hands flat against the vehicle and levered himself upright.

"You experienced a partial release of your lumbar misalignment?" asked Brennan.

Booth gave a smile and a wink as he brushed the side of her face with his hand.

"How about that, Bones? It's still a little tight, but the pain is practically gone" he reported, handing over the keys to the vehicle. "Baby, you can throw me up against a car anytime."

"The effects of alcohol and the sudden extension of your spine against the body of the SUV must have been responsible. I will give the area a deep tissue massage when we arrive in Pittsylvania. And don't call me Baby!" warned Brennan with a small smile as she tool the proffered keys.


	6. What Lies Beneath

**The Rings in the Heart**

**Chapter 6 – What Lies Beneath**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own BONES...but I'm thinking of changing my pen-name to Harts-b***h (but we should be careful what we wish for...n'est ce pas?)

* * *

Morning dawned over the eastern horizon of Pittsylvania County as around sixty thousand souls slumbered. It had rained for most of the night and puddles reflected the rays of sunlight that managed to penetrate the now diminishing cloud cover. Outside the neat motel complex, the black FBI-issue SUV was parked, splattered with mud picked up from road works along the US highway 29.

.

Booth and Brennan had been given adjoining rooms upon their arrival late last night. Both rooms had been put to good use, suit bags and forensic kits thrown on the bed in one room, the partners in the other. The tired crime-fighting duo had turned down the offer of a late supper from the Deputy that had been assigned to meet and greet them. Brennan had displayed a creased brow as she attempted to process Booths' protestations of fatigue despite his having slept for two hours while she drove. Booth dropped her a sideways glance and casually brushed his hand over the rear pocket of her jeans. He knew that the non-verbal message had been received loud and clear, as the _'light bulb'_ look flashed across her face.

Bones almost ruined the moment by helpfully announcing that she _'needed to get some booty sleep.'_ Booth jumped in to assure Bones _and _his local law enforcement colleague that it was actually _'Beauty Sleep'_ that she was referring to. Then Booth sabotaged himself by adding a qualifying comment to the effect that Bones was beautiful, and that she actually didn't _need_ beauty sleep. The Deputy decided to excuse himself at this point, at this rate they were going to start pawing at each other in the parking lot and he didn't want to have to arrest them for public indecency – it was bad form to collar other cops, particularly Feds.

So they went to their room, and as usual, Bones was right, following the promised deep tissue massage to Booths' troublesome lumbar spine – booty sleep it was. Booty sleep was actually more of an oxymoron than a code for sex.

* * *

Booth cracked open an eye as a small shaft of sunlight managed to invade the motel room. He gave a small snort of annoyance as he reached over to grab his phone and squint at the time display. Great. Ten minutes before his set alarm. Realising that Bones was already up, he turned over to stretch himself spreadeagle over the bed. The bathroom door opened and Brennan emerged with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing only a white pair of boy-leg panties and matching cotton sports bra. She grabbed her dark blue overalls and stepped into the legs, bending forward to pull them up and pausing as she noticed that Booth was awake. From his perspective, spreadeagled over the mattress, she appeared to be upside down.

"See something here that you like?" she asked.

"Uh huh" replied Booth in the affirmative as she pulled the overalls up, put her arms through the sleeves and shrugged the garment over her shoulders.

"I always imagined that you would wear something a little different under those overalls Bones," mused Booth with a grin as he rubbed at the stubble on his chin. Brennan placed her overall clad arms on either side of his head and leaned down to engage in an upside down kiss.

"It gets warm spending hours in these overalls Booth, the lacy underwear tends to chafe a little. The cotton is a more comfortable and practical option."

"Actually, I thought that you would...you know, wear _more_ than just underwear," ventured Booth, as he reached up to touch her still exposed torso.

Brennan smacked his hand away with a smile as she fastened the front of her overalls. Booth pouted and tossed the sheet back so that he could get out of bed. Brennan looked down at his unclothed body and raised an eyebrow.

"Honestly, I would wear less if I could Booth, clothing is quite restrictive under these. Hodgins actually prefers to wear as little as you are now..."

"Oh! Bones, no! Don't go there. Please? Seriously, I did NOT need to know that, okay?" cringed Booth, clutching his head and trying to shake the images assaulting his mind. He got up and headed toward the bathroom as Brennan chuckled at his discomfort.

As the sounds of the shower running began, Booths' voice drifted from the bathroom. "Hodgins is banned from my crime scenes. Period!"

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Booth was more composed as he tucked into a stack of pancakes at the local diner. They had been joined by the local M.E. and the Sheriff, who were going through the increasingly common fan worship routine of the best-selling author at the table. He could almost set his watch by the conversation. '_Five, four, three, two,...'_

"So, is Agent Booth the inspiration for Andy?" asked Dwight Preston, the local M.E., in his New Orleans drawl.

'_Bingo Baby,'_ thought Booth, as he gave a non-committal shrug.

"Absolutely" replied Brennan with a smile, giving Booth a squeeze to the forearm as his jaw dropped. "Booth is a constant source of inspiration to me."

Dwight Preston narrowed his eyes and glanced at the Sheriff, who flinched slightly. Booth deduced that the M.E. had just won a bet. Bones could be more candid than a full page newspaper advertisement, but at least she wasn't making _'booty'_ faux pas this morning.

"The Sheriff here is going to drive the two of you out to the scene. We had some flooding last night with the rain and all, so the only access is using a service track until the water subsides" announced Dr. Preston. Booth got the feeling that pulling the chauffeur duty was a condition of their wager.

"The curing shed is a few miles outside Tightsqueeze, Agent Booth. We'll get there in maybe forty minutes," commented the Sheriff.

"Tightsqueeze is a place?" asked Booth.

"And reportedly a town name most likely to make American 13 year-olds laugh" replied Dr. Preston.

"Fascinating" commented Brennan as she leaned in toward Booth and added, "Sweets will no doubt appreciate the humour on his next birthday."

Booth braced himself. Bones was clearly sleep deprived if she was cracking jokes. He considered the possibility of suggesting an early night and then dismissed it out of hand.

* * *

**A/N: Tightsqueeze VA is a real place. What Hodgins wears, **_**or doesn't wear**_** under his overalls is pure conjecture on my part.**


	7. Tobacco can be harmful to your health

**The Rings in the Heart**

**Chapter 7 – Tobacco can be harmful to your health**

**.**

**Disclaimer:** BONES does not belong to me. I do not belong to BONES – it sounds fair to me!

* * *

Sheriff Dane Morgan felt every one of his fifty-two years this morning, as he eased his vehicle along the slippery service road to the crime scene. After the past seventy-two hours of mayhem that had descended upon his usually predicable patch of West Virginia, he was feeling decidedly too old for dealing with all this bullcrap. Feds, freaks, and spooks, had turned his largely predictable territory into an episode of the X-Files – except he had Dwight Preston as the Medical Examiner in the autopsy bay, instead of the beautiful Agent Scully getting all trigger-happy with her scalpel. The aging law man was disturbed from his mature-aged fan-boy reverie by Agent Booth, who was riding shotgun, and asking him a question.

"So, Sheriff. What is the history behind the town being named Tightsqueeze?" asked Booth in polite conversation.

"Well, Agent Booth. It hails back to the 1870's when local tradesmen built their places of business very close to the edge of the road. So close in fact, that wagons and carriages would have to slow to a crawl to navigate their way through the town. Hence the name" replied the Sheriff.

"I am sure that this planning reduced injuries and fatalities on the route by providing a safer road. This would have been extremely socially advanced for the times," commented Brennan from the rear seat.

Sheriff Morgan gave a bark of laughter. "It certainly would have been Dr. Brennan, if that were true. Truth is more about chivalry than public health though. The idea was to have the buildings close enough to the road, so as to allow visiting ladies to enter the shops from their carriages without having to step in the dirt and mud."

Booth laughed and said, "You've gotta be kidding me?"

"Serious as cancer, Agent Booth" said Sheriff Morgan.

"Was there some sort of cancer-causing agent in the mud?" asked Brennan trying to cobble together a causative link between cancer and chivalry.

"Say what?" said the Sherriff.

Booth turned around in his seat to explain the expression. "Bones. _Serious as cancer_ is an expression."

"Ah, I see, employing a hyperbolic metaphor to convey sincerity. However, I was also considering the large uranium deposits in this region when I posed my question" reasoned Brennan.

"Your lady-partner is absolutely right about the uranium in these parts Agent Booth. How'd she know all that?" asked the Sheriff.

Booth sighed and said "It's a world renowned, best-selling, genius thing."

"That sounded complimentary, but I detect a hint of irreverence in your tone Agent Booth" said Brennan from the back seat, flicking Booth's earlobe in reprimand.

"Ouch! C'mon Bones! I promise to worship the ground that you walk on, okay? So long as you cut that out!" whined Booth. Sheriff Morgan gave Booth a sideward glance that said _'You are so whipped'_. Booth returned a wry smile to the local law man, with a twinkle in his eye that conveyed that he was having the time of his life.

The heavy duty off-road police cruiser turned off the track and began to free-wheel across a rutted field. The horseplay was put on hold as the passengers grabbed onto the handholds to brace themselves against the rough terrain.

"Your FBI techs arrived about an hour ago" yelled the Sheriff over the guttural growling of the low range gears of the vehicle as it struggled for traction over patches of mud. After another two minutes of bouncing around and molar-shaking, they finally reached the hard-packed gravel surrounding the curing shed. As they pulled up to the front of the structure, the doors stood open with four other mud-splattered vehicles parked haphazardly.

Booth jumped out of the vehicle and opened the rear door to let Brennan out. She arched an eyebrow at his chivalrous behavior; he threw his hands up in the air in mock insult and joined the Sheriff at the rear doors of the vehicle to grab some of their equipment.

* * *

As they walked into the relative darkness of the shed, the artificial glow of bright lamps drew them toward the waiting group of technicians.

"Hey Bones! It's the _'crypt of the mummy'_" said Booth in his best impression of Vincent Price. One of the techs carrying some of the Jeffersonian communication gear sniggered, but the effort was wasted on Brennan.

"Booth, the aroma in here is amazing," mused Brennan absently as they passed by rack after rack of golden brown leaves. Then she processed the anomaly in the tone of his last statement. Giving him a puzzled expression, she asked "Why are you impersonating a vampire?"

"A _Vampire? _C'mon, I don't _do _vampire. Besides, it's _daytime_," quipped Booth. "That was a _'classic'_ Vincent Price moment Bones."

"You should consider making jokes within the context of the case Booth, such as '_What kind of music do mummies like?'_" she asked him with a serious expression. When it came to comedy, Bones was always the straight man.

Booth groaned and said, "I'm afraid to ask, but you'll tell me anyway."

A rare smile of innocent joy crossed her face as she delivered the punch line. "Mummies like Wrap music Booth!"

The FBI tech almost dropped his gear as he gave a cackle of laughter. Booth was shaking his head. "You've been hanging out with Parker again haven't you Bones?"

As the technician launched into another fit of laughter, Brennan waved her arm in the techs' direction and observed, "Well _somebody_ thinks it is humorous, which clearly demonstrates that my delivery was more than adequate."

Booth rolled his eyes and proceeded to pin the FBI tech with a look. "Hey. Put a sock in it Chuckles, this is a crime scene."

"Party pooper" mumbled Brennan under her breath. Booth decided that he would be having a discussion with Parker about his relationship with Dr. Bones when he returned to D.C.

.

They were waved through to the back corner of the curing shed and had to navigate through a three dimensional maze of wooden poles, which had lines attached to them, some sections with brown tobacco leaves still attached.

"Wow!" it's getting warm back here" commented Booth, wanting to remove his jacket as he felt sweat tricking into the small of his back under his FBI t-shirt.

Brennan took this as her cue to demonstrate her encyclopaedic knowledge of pretty much everything. "These sheds, or houses, as they are sometimes called, are constructed to maintain specific levels of humidity and temperature to cure the tobacco leaves to the desired consistency. The hardwood burners provide flavour to the leaf, and traditionally there would have been hot coal fires in those pits over there. They have been modernized since then with propane heaters. These conditions will have undoubtedly accelerated the mummification process in the victim."

Booth was listening whilst squeezing between two upright poles and grasping at an overhead beam that creaked loudly.

"Be careful there Agent Booth" said 'Chuckles' the tech. "One section already collapsed when the Homeland Security team removed the body."

Booth cringed at the information that the technician had disclosed, as Brennan launched into a tirade about the incompetency of government agencies that would surely have compromised the evidence. She was getting feisty and pushed past Booth to enter the brightly lit area still complaining loudly, pivoting around an upright post and looping her arm around an adjoining horizontal pole, she gave herself some leverage through the obstacle in front of her.

A loud crack rang out through the shed, followed by the sounds of straining timber, snapping lines and the rustling protestations of ten thousand tobacco leaves. Booth ducked and yelled a warning. A section of suspended leaves swung forward, knocking Brennan in the back and propelling her into the brightly lit area. Momentarily blinded she put her arms out in front of her to break her fall, but didn't see the upright pole in front of her. As her forehead collided with the hardwood pole, she saw a blood red flash across her vision; then the lights went out.

* * *

**A/N: I have to disclose that this mechanism of injury actually happened to me. In retrospect, mine was much funnier, I was hit by a golf ball in the back and I was propelled forward to headbutt a** **tree. Yes, I was out cold – my amateur golf career ended that day… (Hey, stop laughing!)**

**On a serious note, I'd like to thank everyone for reading and I am blown away by some of the recent alerts, reviews and PM's, particularly for The Five Syllables piece. I'm not sure that I can pull off something like that for the finale this week…but if Hart gives us a little sugar with the angst I'll give it a go **


	8. Poor Wand'ring Humerus!

**The Rings in the Heart**

**Chapter 8 – Poor Wand'ring Humerus!**

**Disclaimer: **Me? Own BONES? ... Nope.

**A/N: Thanks for laughing with me (at me?) about the golf ball trauma. The ultimate feedback was from **_**Mendenbar**_** who confirmed that what happened to Brennan in the last chapter actually does happen in tobacco sheds... So I'm squeezing in another chapter prior to the finale & doing the outline for my post-finale piece – talk about multi-tasking! **

**For this chapter, I must disclose that I've worked with thousands of unconscious, semi-conscious, and rousing patients over the years and they can be unpredictable... :)**

* * *

Seeley Booth ducked and shouted a warning, but was unable to stop the rack of leaves descending in a swinging arc from more than twenty feet above them. He saw and smelled a mass of brown tobacco leaves as they passed him on a collision course with Brennan. She didn't even have time to turn around. Booth heard the impact that knocked the breath out of her and the impact of her body against a solid object. The fact that he could identify that sound and still remain calm was testament to his time in combat. It seemed that Temperance Brennan wasn't the only one that could compartmentalise at will.

.

The moment he was out of danger, he moved forward into the brightly lit area to get a sitrep, bracing himself physically and mentally as fragments of brown tobacco leaves floated down in a snowflake parody. The silence was deafening. He saw Bones semi-prone on the hard packed ground and as he saw her chest rise and fall, he let out the breath that he had been unconsciously holding, and sound returned as he dropped to his knees beside her.

The FBI team had sprung into action, radioing for their team medic and calling the local cops in to help move the jumble of wooden poles and tangled ropes. The pungent smell of crushed tobacco leaves was overpowering as dozens of boots trampled their way around the pegged off area to follow their team emergency response orders.

.

Booth placed his index finger over where he knew the carotid pulse would be and laid his other hand over her forehead. She was out cold, but Bones managed to communicate that she was still with him as her carotid artery brushed against his finger in a regular and reassuring pulsation.

"Bones?" said Booth as he took his finger from her pulse and gently shook her shoulder to get a response. As he took his hand away from her forehead it was wet with blood from a scalp wound. She gave a low groan and flailed an arm at him to stop him shaking her.

"If you can hear me, Temperance, open your eyes" he said a little more loudly. Those emergency field assessment skills had just kicked in automatically. A tech shoved a torch into his hand as her eyes moved beneath their lids and considered opening. Booth took the torch and checked her pupils; thankfully they were the same size, and they reacted briskly to the light. The observing tech reported the finding to whoever was scribing on the incident form.

"Heart rate regular and sixty. Saturating at 98%" reported another tech who had just arrived with a medic band on his arm. He had attached an oximeter probe to her finger and was busy putting on a blood pressure cuff.

"C'mon Bones! Squeeze my hand if you can hear me" Booth said in a more commanding tone, as he took her hand in his own. He felt the coolness of her mothers' ring press against his thumb as her fingers curled around his hand and gave a half-hearted squeeze.

The medic tech had a field dressing in his hand and announced "You've got a cut on your head here Dr. Brennan. I'm going to put a dressing on it with some pressure to stop the bleeding. I'm sorry, it's gonna hurt."

As the pressure was applied to the scalp above her forehead, her face creased in pain and her eyes popped open. "What the h...owww!" complained Brennan as she started coming around.

"Take it easy Bones. You just got K.O.'d. Nice bump to the head. Just let the team take care of you until you're back with us" soothed Booth.

Brennan closed her eyes and said in a whisper, "I didn't go anywhere, Booth."

"You were unconscious for around two minutes, Dr. Brennan. You need to remain here until we can assess you for other injuries, okay?" reasoned the medic.

She cracked open her eyes and looked blearily at the medic, unable to muster up her signature _'Be gone, mere bystander without a PhD'_ stare. Brennan merely stated "I concur. My head hurts, and my left scapula."

.

Booth was worried. Bones hadn't uttered a word with over three syllables yet, and the tech hadn't been turned to stone for telling her what to do. He brushed the side of her face gently as her eyes drifted shut, as the medic was checking her over for injuries and secured the dressing over the scalp wound. She was still gripping his hand lightly so he gave it a reassuring squeeze as the medic started asking him for particulars for his incident form. A Deputy informed them that the Sheriff had authorised the opening of the partially flooded road to let an ambulance through, with an ETA of 10 minutes. Bones disliked hospitals even more than he did; she usually requested her discharge against medical advice forms at the admissions desk.

In this case, Booth was wagering that Bones would score an all-expenses paid night in the hospital, and he would get a recliner chair for the night. If he was lucky, Booth would also get all of the pudding allocated to Bones. As a vegetarian she wouldn't eat it because the gelatine in the pudding was made from cow bones, or something like that. As Booth wondered if chocolate pudding came from chocolate cows, Brennan gave his hand a hard squeeze and tried to roll back onto her right side in order to sit herself up.

.

"Hey, hey! Bones you can't sit up yet" exclaimed Booth as she elbowed him out of the way and knocked the medic onto his ass as her leg kicked out.

"Have to...going to...," Brennan pleaded, as she promptly vomited on the boots of the medic.

Booth moved in to support her in a half-sitting position as she gasped following the effort. The medic jumped up disregarding his newly decorated boots and grabbed a wet wipe for Brennan from his kit, proceeding to efficiently wipe her chin.

Tears were now streaming down her face. "That was a mistake" she winced as she was now visibly in agony. "Shoulder dislocated..." whimpered Brennan as her eyes rolled back in her head and she passed out from the pain.

"That is one tough lady you have there, Agent Booth. I've had burly FBI veterans pass out with a dislocated pinky," commented the medic as he placed an oxygen mask over her face. "Shall we immobilise that dislocated arm before she comes around?"

Booth nodded and deftly moved the limp left arm against her chest while the medic strapped the injured limb to reduce her pain.

* * *

Five hours later, following a trip in an ambulance to Danville, sutures to a scalp laceration, and the relocation of a wandering humeral head under a sedative, Bones was finally resting comfortably. Cam and Hodgins were flying into Danville airport in the next couple of hours, to handle the ongoing squint side of the investigation. Booth put his feet up onto a vacant chair and popped the top off a pudding container.

Brennan opened her eyes groggily, her head was sore, her shoulder felt tight, but definitely where it should be. She heard the sound of a spoon hitting her bedside table, and glanced over to see Booth making a basketball-style shot toward the garbage bin next to the sink with an empty pudding container.

"Pudding thief" she accused.


	9. Cordon bleu lurve French and steamy

**The Rings in the Heart**

**Chapter 9 - Cordon bleu lurve (French and steamy)**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own BONES. But I do own Cordon bleu lurve!

**A/N: Abject apologies for not updating this sooner – the finale sent things into a bit of a tailspin, resulting in the 'Sildenafil' and 'Progeny' stories bubbling to the surface of my creative pool.**

* * *

Pittsylvania County Morgue

It was already mid-morning and Dr Camille Saroyan was experiencing a 'fish out of water' moment as she navigated her way around the Pittsylvania county morgue facilities. She mused that her time at the Jeffersonian had made her soft, with almost unlimited access to everything that a Medical Examiner could possibly desire at her fingertips. However, the rudimentary facilities here were more than adequate when she compared them to those of her previous workplace in New York City. Cam was in a self-flagellatory frame of mind, wondering when the hell a tough broad from the Bronx like her had allowed herself to get so soft, and so well dressed.

.

Cam had arrived with Dr. Hodgins on the previous afternoon, following news of the accident, and they had taken up where Dr. Brennan had left off, which was to say at the beginning, because she had been injured at the crime scene before being able to make a single observation. Jack Hodgins had joined the FBI techs at the scene with enthusiastic gusto, so enamored with the entomological microcosms contained within the tobacco shed that he even forgot to be snarky with the FBI team. Cam had visited the scene with Hodgins yesterday, casting her supervisory eye over the processing of the scene with Dr. Brennans' exacting standards in mind, making a couple of additional requests to the FBI agent supervising in order to prevent issues arising which would surely incur the ire of the Forensic Anthropologist. Admittedly, there was an element of self-preservation for Cam too, as she was invariably the administrative firefighter called in to smother the flames of a Dr. Brennan rant toward another agency that would not, or could not, comply with her sky-high expectations.

.

Speaking of the devil, Cam heard voices in the anteroom outside what passed as the autopsy room in this facility. Even the fire doors could not disguise the familiar sounds of verbal conflict between Seeley Booth and his long-time partner, and lately paramour. Cam gave a wry smile, knowing that Brennan would have discharged herself from hospital against advice this morning, and that Seeley would be fighting a losing battle to keep her away from the action. It was going to be a day of fun and games. Cam prepared herself to step in and adjudicate at the appropriate time and wagered that this was going to be a three Mohito day – the number that she would be required to consume at the bar that evening to wind down.

* * *

The double doors of the autopsy room swung inward with a bang and a jump in the volume of the altercation, as Booth and Brennan entered. Booth had a disposable paper gown and apron flapping in his hand and looked as mad as hell. Brennan, wearing a sling on her left arm, sporting a waterproof dressing on her forehead and bruising that had collected around her eye, was mid-rant, and stopping it simply to greet her colleague, or even check who was in the room, was not a consideration.

.

"…the man is a trained professional Booth. Your objections to his seeing me naked are misplaced, and your threatening demeanour toward him was simply an alpha male display demonstrating your desire to exert dominance over a perceived threat to your masculinity."

Booth was not going to let it slide. "There is nothing threatening my masculinity, Bones. I am all man, okay?" he blustered. "All, I'm saying is that I would have been able to help you in the shower myself if you hadn't been in such a goddamned hurry to discharge yourself, and maybe _waited_ for me to get in to the hospital."

"Toby was simply doing his job Booth. When his shift started this morning, he asked me what assistance I would require and I stated my intent to discharge myself. He simply took steps ensure that I would be able to leave the hospital in a clean and relatively comfortable state. In order to achieve this, I had to shower and have the blood washed out of my hair prior to my dressing being changed" Brennan reasoned.

"_Nurse_ Toby should have persuaded you to wait for me. Visiting hours only started at eight," sniped Booth.

"Your derisive use of his job title suggests that you disapprove of males in the nursing profession Booth, which is an antiquated prejudice. Toby accepted that I had made a rational decision to leave the hospital, he was not going to hold a pistol to my head in a futile attempt to coerce me to comply with the overly cautious orders of my attending doctor" she retorted.

"Bones, the expression is to hold a _gun_ to your head. Sheesh! I'm just worried about you, okay? Less than twenty-four hours ago you were knocked out cold, and then you passed out in my arms. It scared the crap outta me! If the situation had been reversed, try telling me that you wouldn't have been concerned, huh? " Booth challenged, wearing his heart on his sleeve in an endearing fashion. Surprisingly, Brennan appeared to be considering his perspective and paused for a couple of seconds to compose her response.

.

Brennan stepped into his personal space and modulated her tone to non-rant mode. Placing her remaining functional hand upon Booths' upper arm in a conciliatory gesture, she appeared prepared to make peace. Cam, observing the exchange from the safe zone on the other side of the autopsy table, rolled her eyes. There was very little distinction between peace-making and love-making for this intrepid pair at the moment. Cam eyed the fire hose on the wall next the door and considered it as a contingency.

"Based upon my experiences of you being injured in the field, I accept your assertion that I would indeed be concerned in that scenario Booth. Although, I believe that you would have tolerated the pain of a dislocated shoulder, avoiding the embarrassment of vomiting and syncope."

Booth visibly relaxed and assumed a grin that was equal parts charm and sappiness. Cam wished that she had taken the time to connect to the Jeffersonian. Angela would be in raptures at the dissolution of their bickering into a Public Display of Affection.

"Hey," Booth said, lowering his voice and brushing a lock of hair away from Brennans' face – on her injured side, so she wouldn't be able to intercept his hand and apply a ninja nerve block. "You were incredibly brave Temperance; the FBI medic at the scene told me that you were tougher than some of the seasoned FBI veteran agents that he had treated. Just humour me and let me care about you, regardless of whether you think you deserve it or not."

.

Booth locked eyes with her and leaned in slightly in a non-verbal request for a make-up kiss. Brennan, who was admittedly still under the influence of some fairly strong painkillers, was momentarily hesitant, her mouth forming a straight line, which proceeded to twitch into a small smile at the corners as they engaged in a little _'foreplay aux__ eye_ _sex'._ She tilted her head slightly in an almost subliminal _'come hither'_ gesture, as she moved a few centimeters toward his face, enjoying the scent of him that she realized she had missed during their first night apart since the tequila experiment. Entropy failed and their lips were pulled together for a small flotilla of steamboats.

.

As Cam considered giving into the itch in her fingers that was the manifestation of her desire to grab the fire hose, and then realised that these two thought that they were alone. Cam quickly reconsidered how to break things up without goosing the two of them.

.

Fortunately, another party chose that moment to intervene, as the disembodied sound of Angela Montenegro giving a low, raunchy whistle interrupted the kiss that was turning French and steamy, in a decidedly non-culinary context.

"_Sweetie, you just have to write that scene into your next book…because that moment right there was seriously hot. Apart from the mummified corpse and your Boss being in the room of course."_

_._

"Oh!" said Brennan in surprise, still catching her breath as Booth rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously; waiting for a hole in the ground to swallow him up. He hadn't even noticed Cam, and he was the trained observer in the room. Brennan recovered her equilibrium first, failing to see why she should be embarrassed.

.

"Good morning, Ange. Good morning, Dr. Saroyan" offered Brennan formally.

"Good for some of us it seems…" quipped Cam, mentally upgrading her earlier assessment. It was going to be a five Mohito day.


	10. Into the Narcotic Nebula

**The Rings in the Heart**

**Chapter 10 – Into the Narcotic Nebula**

**.**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own BONES. If I did, this hiatus thing would have to go.

* * *

Pittsylvania County Morgue

The team were finally back on track following Brennan's run in with ten-thousand tobacco leaves.

Samples had been collected from the scene and Hodgins had headed back to his bug and slime cave at the Jeffersonian Institution to do his highly specialised job, which involved pronouncing really, really complex scientific terminology, and unleashing the power of his three PhD's to uncover the truth. Booth was sort of relieved that Hodgins had gone back to D.C., the truth was that Booth still couldn't look Hodgins in the eye while he wore those blue field coveralls knowing what lay beneath them, which was to say, not much at all.

.

Booth was reviewing the field summary report from the FBI technical team, whilst Cam and Brennan were in the middle of an online meeting with Angela. Identification of the victim was proving to be anything but straightforward. Local and state databases had failed to turn up an ID, the main National databases were similarly unhelpful. For a man with particulars as conspicuous as this victim, it was hard to believe that he managed to live under the radar. Cam had also had no luck with matching the serial numbers on the mechanical heart valves, searches of both US and Canadian surgical device databases had turned up a big fat zero. Angela reported a similar dead end on the dentals.

.

"I believe that we will have to conduct isotope analysis of the bones and teeth of the victim in order to establish his origins, perhaps this will assist Dr. Saroyan to narrow the international search of matches for the valve implants." Brennan surmised.

Cam nodded sagely in agreement. "That would be helpful Dr. Brennan. Records for these earlier models of heart valves are not consistently maintained in other countries. The original manufacturer of these devices has been merged with no less than three other biomedical companies in the past twenty years. The matching of serial numbers using archived sales records, if they still exist, would be subject to hand searching."

Angela spoke via the video link. "Bren, are there ethnic populations that this Marfans Syndrome affects more than others? We could add them into the search algorithm."

"That will not be required Angela, the disorder is not clustered in any racial or ethnic subtype" replied Brennan.

.

Booth had been listening in on the proceedings and surreptitiously watching Brennan for signs of fatigue. There were too many dead ends and they were isolated from the squint army that could be called upon to do the grunt work on this case. It was time to ship all of this back to the Jeffersonian.

"Bones?" She turned toward him and winced from the pain in her shoulder. Booth decided was definitely Vicodin-o'clock.

"Yes Booth?"

"You mentioned that the victim has damage to his knees and ankles from sport, I can ask the FBI to track down records of foreign students recruited by college programs that match the physical description." He suggested.

Brennan nodded. "That is a reasonable avenue of inquiry to pursue until the isotope analysis is completed. From the 3-D reconstruction of the skeletal system, I would suggest that basketball is the sport associated with the observed patterns of injury and remodelling."

Booth gestured with his folder of field reports at the mummified victim. "We've exhausted the local avenues of the investigation into the ID, and the crime scene is fully processed, so hopefully we'll eventually find out how he got into that shed. If all of this gets packed up now, we can ship it all back to the Jeffersonian and be back to D.C. in time for Mohitos."

"I agree. There is not much more that we can achieve here. Although it may not be advisable for me to consume Mohitos while I am taking Vicodin" replied Brennan earnestly.

"No Mohitos for you Bones" agreed Booth, giving a sideways glance toward Cam, who looked unimpressed. He went over to assist Brennan to divest herself of her apron and the paper gown.

"I will take care of the transport and paperwork, Dr. Brennan. The two of you will have a few hours of driving, whereas I will be catching the shuttle back to D.C. this afternoon" said Cam in a tone which suggested that this was an order rather than a request.

"Okay, I'll see you when you get back, guys" said Angela as she logged off.

.

Booth shook a prescription bottle of Vicodin at Brennan and pointed at a bottle of water beside his box of paperwork. "You'll be needing a couple of these for the ride home Bones. I'm driving" he stated unnecessarily.

"There is no need to treat me like a child Booth" she said grumpily.

"Well, it's your choice Temperance. But I guarantee that you'll be crying like a child within 50 miles of leaving here if you don't" Booth retorted, giving her a look that he used on Parker during disputes over vegetables.

It was effective. Brennan rolled her eyes at him and held out her hand for the tablets.

* * *

Fifty miles outside Pittsylvania

"Booth?" said a glassy eyed Temperance Brennan.

"What's up Bones? Are you feeling okay?" enquired Booth, glancing over at her briefly before returning his eyes to the road.

"There is no pain…but I feel…fluffy…" she gave a low chuckle. "What happened to my voc-cabul…uh…words, Booth?"

.

She opened her eyes, which were a bright blue with very small pupils due to the effects of the powerful painkillers. A smile touched the corners of her mouth.

.

"Vicodin, Bones" said with a smile. Don't worry, all the big words are still in there. Maybe just try to sleep it off, huh?

She remained silent for a couple of minutes, eyes closed.

"I am learning Booth…" she said softly.

"Sure Bones, you're a genius, it goes with the territory" he replied evenly, because her head was in the narcotic nebula now.

"No. Love. It makes more sense…means something now…only with you Booth" she rambled, struggling against the pull into sleep.

"I know baby," he said, reaching over to brush the side of her face gently.

"Booth, I think I am in love…it feels…fluffy"

.

Booth gave a low chuckle as soft snores emanated from the passenger seat. He treasured the unexpected admission. It appeared that the long term experiment showed early promise.

**A/N: Another mix of science and fluff. Will Brennan remember I wonder? **


	11. Blessed Discipline

**The Rings in the Heart**

**Chapter 11 - Blessed Discipline**

**.**

**Disclaimer: **BONES does not belong to me. No infringement or disrespect is intended.

**A/N: Thank you for patiently awaiting this update and the fantastic reviews, alerts and favourites – a little research was required to get this right. Special thanks go out to HannahTaylor1 for conceptual beta work, and to Sam for 'Twagging' (Twitter-nagging) me to get this done. **

Following their departure from Pittsylvania, the sound of Booth's voice talking to her in the SUV was the last thing that Brennan recalled. Upon awakening, her shoulder was stiff and sore, and a strand of her hair was caught on the edge of the adhesive dressing on her forehead – the tugging of her stuck hair had awoken her. Without even opening her eyes, she realised that she was in her own bed and pondered how Booth had managed to get her there, because she had no recollection at all.

She decided that it was time to get out of bed and get ready to go to the lab. As she rolled onto her back and opened her eyes, an 'ugh' of discomfort escaped her lips. Fortunately, Booth had removed the constricting sling last night. Now that her shoulder was relocated, she would only really need its support when she was walking around. Experimentally, she did some passive movement of the injured joint, but shooting pains made her abandon the effort. Placing the forearm of her injured side against her abdomen, she used the elbow of her functional right arm and core strength to lever herself into a sitting position, gritting her teeth with the effort.

.

There was a glass of water on the bedside table and she gratefully took a drink, her mouth felt like the inside of a grotty cockatiel cage; an unpleasant side effect of narcotic analgesia. Brennan mentally recited Pi to twenty-five decimal places - at least her brain was back online again. Twenty-minutes after taking the Vicodin tablets on the previous evening, she found herself having difficulty comprehending what Booth was talking about. As her IQ was subsumed by the effect of the narcotic, her cranium had felt like it was being stuffed with fluffy candy floss.

Fluffy. She remembered saying that word.

She also recalled, courtesy of the eidectic memory recall of genius, that she had confessed her preliminary findings in their burgeoning long term experiment to Booth. Trying on the admission in the light of day with all neurons firing, Brennan tried to gauge her own reaction and was surprised to find that it felt like a bustier; sexually and emotionally empowering, perhaps a little constrictive, but it made her feel special all the same. Her musings were interrupted by the sound of Booth's conversation ending in the other room, followed by the smacking of bare feet on her hard floor and the fleeting aroma of coffee. At that precise moment, she was in coffee love – 'you bring me coffee; I love you.'

.

"Time to wake up Bones" said Booth in a sing-song voice as he entered the bedroom. "Oh, you're awake!" He took the water glass from her hand and exchanged it for the coffee cup, planting a kiss on the top of her head.

"Thank you" she murmured, letting the aroma of the coffee launch an assault on her olfactory senses before taking a mouthful.

"Do you need some painkillers? You slept for a long time."

Brennan gave a mute nod as she came to grips with the fact that the discomfort could not be compartmentalised away. Although the shoulder dislocation was healing, she was experiencing muscle spasms from the large haematoma at the tobacco sticks' point of impact with her scapula. Booth popped the top off a prescription bottle of something slightly less debilitating than Vicodin. Brennan, worrying her bottom lip slightly in response to the waves of pain, held out her hand for the two tablets that were tapped from the bottle.

.

"Don't worry Bones, it's not the hard stuff…urgh! How you do that?" cringed Booth as she dry-swallowed the tablets. Brennan rolled her eyes at him and took an insolent gulp of her coffee, then made an attempt to stand. He held out a hand and she gripped his wrist, allowing herself to be assisted into a standing position as she barely suppressed a whimper of pain.

"I should take a shower. The hot water will help relieve the muscle spasm" announced Brennan with all the stoicism she could muster as she dragged herself to the bathroom.

"Do you want a hand in there Bones?" Booth asked her.

"Yes. Both of your hands would be welcome Booth" she replied as she turned to give him her first smile of the day, the one he normally opened his eyes to see on the pillow beside him.

"Does that mean that the rest of me is invited?"

"Obviously" she stated, her smile pulling up at one side of her mouth as Booths' eyebrows communicated the innuendo in his statement.

* * *

Following a morning of workplace frustration, Temperance Brennan was taking it all out on the keyboard on her office computer, trying to run database queries with the phalanges of one functional hand. As the computer returned the error tone signifying epic failure for the sixth time running, she selected a few choice curses in a guttural Mongolian dialect and muttered them darkly under her breath.

"Temperance Brennan! Did you just drop the F-bomb?" asked Booth from his vantage point, leaning on the doorframe of her office. "Because it has a pretty distinctive delivery in every language that I've ever heard."

"The Bohaan dialect does not have a direct translation for most Western curses Booth. But if you must know, I was referring to the functionality of this computer as rat infested midden heap," she admitted.

"Nice, Bones. But I don't think that one is going to make it onto my top ten insults of all time list," quipped Booth. He entered the office and placed brown paper bags of something which smelled edible onto the table beside the couch.

"I've noticed something about you Bones" he added, waiting for her to take the bait.

"Please, enlighten me with your observation, Booth."

He approached her desk and moving in behind her chair, he wheeled it backward and rotated the chair until she was face to face with a Cocky belt buckle. Brennan wore a moue of amusement and tilted her head up to meet his downward gaze.

"You become pretty grumpy when your painkillers wear off. And of course when you are grumpy, you usually forget to eat lunch."

"Despite the fact that my colleagues have attempted to reduce my workload to a minimum this morning, I have been very busy" deflected Brennan.

"Yeah, I know, practicing all those obscure curses on the Jeffersonian computer system," countered Booth, holding out a hand to help her up and waving his other hand in invitation toward her couch.

* * *

With food and analgesia on board, Brennan was content to listen to an update on the case from Booth, telling her what the FBI team had discovered that morning. The FBI had made a probable identification match for the victim; a 41 year old Egyptian National, Nizam Mubarak, who spent half his time in the U.S. as a Botany Professor at A.N.U., with the remainder of his time spent in remote corners of the world finding rare plants for pharmaceutical research. He had failed to return for his teaching and academic commitments two weeks previously, the faculty raised their concerns after a week of not being able to contact him. Angela and Cam were running the available records of the missing man against the evidence gathered from the mummified remains.

.

Cam entered the office, the expression on her face conveying that she had more news.

"Did you make a positive ID Cam?" asked Booth.

"Not yet. But I discovered the cause of death, and it is pretty unusual" Cam announced with her hands clasped in front of her chest. "Our mummy died of massive nicotine poisoning, tissue levels all came back from toxicology studies showing fatal levels. I haven't confirmed the route of administration at this time, but I suspect it was transdermally."

Brennan was very interested in this development. "Transdermally? Like a nicotine patch?" she asked.

"Not exactly," said Cam. "Under his wrappings, we found tobacco leaves against his skin."

"So it was foul play?" asked Booth.

"It certainly looks that way Booth. Dr. Hodgins is comparing the leaves found on the victim to those grown in the Pittsylvania area. Angela is rendering images from the tobacco leaves found on the body of the victim under a range of light spectrums. She hopes to find additional trace evidence which may assist us to piece together who, and how our mummy came to be wrapped in tobacco leaves."

"Like a human cigar" observed Booth.


	12. Viva la Vegetarian

The Rings in the Heart

**Chapter 12 – Viva la Vegetarian**

**.**

**Disclaimer: **BONES does not belong to me. It is just a play date, simmer down, okay?

**A/N: Thanks for patiently waiting for an update. I do intend to see this through, so don't give up on me yet! To those of you reviewing and alerting, kudos for doing what this site is designed to do. To all those lurking readers...I can still see you, I'm just not sure if you're having fun. A shout goes out to **_**Myzinglink**_** – this is partial retaliation for the spontaneous combustion of my Blackberry!**

* * *

Following the announcement that both a cause of death and a positive ID were close, the team buckled down to work. The squint squad spent the rest of the afternoon doing what they did best, applying their knowledge and expertise to the myriad of small tasks which would build a body of evidence to support their findings for the case. It was the kind of work that was vitally important in the real world, but rarely made an appearance in procedural TV dramas, unless it was accompanied by a track from the Directors' playlist accompanying said imagery, constructed into an epic montage; usually to denote some arbitrary passage of time.

.

So the afternoon passed. Angela gathered and collated the electronic evidence, using the amazing technical set-up that could only be described as the World's Largest Siamese iPads. The main distinction here was that comparatively, Angela Montenegro made Steve Jobs look like Gollum.

Hodgins' workroom had turned into a Tobacconists pipe dream with, leaf samples displayed and identified on boards like carcinogenic butterflies – Jack also spent some of his afternoon in a singlet, bending pipes of the metal variety for no specific reason, other than to maintain the perpetual hope that Angela would pass by and spontaneously jump him. But she didn't, and therefore he didn't, but a lot of Jeffersonian interns stopped by to admire the magnificent display of lean muscle...erm, tobacco leaves.

Cam reviewed toxicology results and discussed tissue sample degradation with a mummification specialist from the Egyptology Department, a man who was blatantly trying to divest her of the Prada number she was wearing, by unwrapping her with his suspiciously kohl lined eyes.

Mr. Vasiri had been instructed to run Dr. Brennan's database queries, because she was running out of Mongolian curses, and his ability with SQL was actually superior to hers. Arastoo prayed fervently during his intermittent sessions facing Mecca on the prayer mat, that this superior ability over the brilliant Dr. Brennan would never be noticed, the shame would be unbearable.

Brennan was catching up on her e-mail backlog following the disastrous road trip and reviewing the 3D reconstruction that Angela had completed in her absence. The final stages of the isotope analysis of the bone and tooth samples taken from the victim were underway; she was supervising the progress of the testing and validation. These tasks had been allocated to a doctoral candidate and three interns, who collectively and secretly wondered if the opponent of the injured anthropologist had actually survived whatever misfortune she had been involved in. The hero worship of the famous Forensic Anthropologist had taken on a decidedly Chuck-Norris-esque flavour ever since she had returned from Tightsqueeze.

Seeley Booth had decided, in the interests of World Peace, to hang around in Brennan's office for the afternoon and finish his field reports. Cam had threatened to send Brennan home if she refused to comply with the _Medical Doctor_ in the room and take it easy. Booth employed a combination of subtle and juvenile tactics to ensure that Brennan didn't overtax herself; mostly it was keeping her out of Cam's way, but he also had some new workplace games that he could play now that the boundaries of their partnership had been shifted. The main theme of the afternoon was based upon a puerile FBI workplace safety program which encouraged _'safe seated work'_. When Booth had completed his mandatory training earlier in the year, he was disappointed that it had nothing whatsoever to do with refraining from shooting annoying colleagues mooning after your sexy anthropologist, from the comfort of your lumbar-supported office chair. The program was _actually _aimed at avoiding injury and repetitive strain from sitting doing office work for hours on end. Booth spun some bullshit for Brennan about taking mandatory ten minute breaks for each hour of work, doing some walking, breathing and stretching to make sure her injuries didn't start stiffening up.

.

There was just enough credible fact in Booth's pitch to get Brennan agree in principle to the concept. In reality, the enforced breaks involved '_walking'_ to the nearest perpendicular surface out the line of sight of those able to see them through the glass from the lab. Being pinned against said perpendicular surface and kissed, nibbled, grasped, etcetera...until _'breathing'_ became an issue. Then, of course, avoiding _'stretching' _of a whole swag of rules and regulations about having intimate relations, albeit with your clothes on, in the workplace. When Brennan queried how exactly safety was the underpinning aim of this exercise, Booth referred her to the box of Trojans in her desk drawer, which she didn't realise that he had knowledge of. Brennan rolled her eyes and wiped the cocky grin off his face by using her functional hand in retaliation, making an intimate anthropometric assessment, in order to take a _'safety'_ measurement. Booth nearly lost it, sandwiched up against the wall of an alcove. This scenario was anything but safe, he wondered with a sense of desperation if the Decontamination Showers had a cold setting.

.

Thus, Angela Montenegro discovered them at ten minutes after five, when she called into Brennans' office to give them a ten minute warning for the end of day case briefing. All the lab runs had been completed for the day, with results validated. The team needed to sketch out the plan for the following day. Booth had his back up against the wall; Brennan had him pinned there. His hands were positioned on the back of her head and her derriere. Her hands were not visible at all, the left one understandably immobilised by a sling, the right hand was between them with the intent of obtaining valid anthropometric data for _safety_ purposes. If the growl of frustration escaping Booths' lips in the parallel battle for oral dominance was any indicator, she was being particularly methodical in her quest.

.

"You didn't tell me that you had given up on being Vegetarian, Sweetie" said Angela in a voice that was dripping with a fusion of sarcasm and delight.

.

For the sake of safety (and modesty for Seeley Booth), the sprung couple maintained their position, only disconnecting their lips and turning their heads toward Angela. Because frankly, if they were to step apart in that moment, it wouldn't require the skills of a Forensic Anthropologist to take measurements – actually, anyone who wasn't legally blind could manage it without a problem.

.

"Why would you make that assumption? I _am_ still Vegetarian," stated Brennan, with a puzzled crease appearing on her brow, completely unperturbed by her potentially compromising position. She glanced at Booth, who gave her a _'How the hell would I know?'_ look.

"From where _'I'm'_ standing. You, with that delicious hunk of man-meat. I'd go back to being an omnivore too, in a heartbeat." Angela gave a sly wink. "Case briefing in my office, ten minutes."

.

Angela turned on her heel and strutted out of the office. On her way out she delivered her parting shot.

.

"Do you want me to throw you the packet of Trojans from your desk drawer, Bren?"

"No. That won't be necessary" called Brennan after her friend, who gave a silvery laugh in response as she exited the office.


	13. Turning over a new leaf

**The Rings in the Heart**

**Chapter 13 - Turning over a new leaf**

**Disclaimer: **Just to reiterate the obvious; I do not claim ownership over anything in the BONES universe. They don't even know that I'm alive, which makes me unaccountably happy.

**A/N: The case continues...did you think it was going to be all hot & fluffy?...okay, there *is* a hot sauce garnish!**

* * *

Ten minutes after Booth and Brennan had been caught in the act by Angela, they showed up to the afternoon briefing. Common sense had kicked in, making a quickie in the office impractical given the time constraints. Retreating to opposite corners of Brennan's office in a fashion reminiscent of a wrestling ring, they took a few minutes to compose themselves back into professional mode. They glanced across the office at each other, and when their eyes met the challenge was still there because this sexually charged smackdown was far from over; it was their pre-existing competitiveness with a saucy twist. The sauce had a high scoble rating; in other words, it was hot sauce.

.

The first thing that Booth observed after lifting his gaze from the hypnotic sway of the hips of the anthropologist walking ahead of him into Angela's office, was Hodgins. The bug and slime guy was giving off subliminal signs of twitchiness, indicating that he had a discovery to share with the team. Angela was absently rubbing a hand over Hodgins' upper arm, which had rock hard bulging muscles following an afternoon of pipe bending in his work room.

.

Cam called proceedings to order, and Angela took her hand away from Hodgins' arm with an audible sigh as she made some adjustments to the information being loaded onto the giant screens. Booth leaned against the brick wall opposite the screen and pulled the swag of overgrown post-it notes that he used to keep track of recent case details. He checked his phone message logs to make sure he hadn't missed anything whilst undergoing his intimate safety assessment. Brennan came to stand in front of him and made a feinted move as if she planned to lean back against his body, but stopped short, making an unnecessary adjustment to the sling on her left side. Booth could see the amusement in her body language, despite not being able to see her face. Deciding to get a little early revenge, Booth leaned forward and faked making a minute adjustment where the strap met her collar. Brennan tensed at the feather-light touch, and shifted a little as she felt the deliberate puff of hot breath directed at the sternocleidomastoid muscle running down the side of her neck.

.

"Okay people" interrupted Cam, flicking a look of censure at Booth. Whatever reaction Bones had experienced must have been observed on her face. Booth stood up a little straighter and shuffled his notes in a lame attempt at feigning full attention. Cam continued on.

"We have a lot of detail to cover. So let's start. I for one don't want to be here all night, because we have a lot of ground to cover tomorrow. Many of us would benefit from an early night so that we can be raring to go in the morning."

"Are we going somewhere in the morning?" asked Brennan in a murmur over her shoulder to Booth.

"No Bones, it's just an expression" Booth whispered.

.

"Firstly, we have a positive ID on our mummified victim" announced Cam. "He is a 41 year-old Egyptian national, a Professor Nizam Mubarak, currently tenured to the academic Botany program at A.N.U., he has been missing for at least six weeks, but we are still tracking his last known overseas movements. Any updates on that Booth?" asked Cam.

Booth nodded and provided an up to date summary. "The FBI have been liaising with a number of agencies to piece together Mubarak's background and movements. He initially arrived in the U.S. on a college basketball scholarship, but he spent too much time on the injury list to get drafted into the NBA. He retired after he was awarded an academic scholarship in biological science. It turns out that our victim travelled a lot, and to some fairly far flung places. He led a triple life. Respected Botany Professor, family man in Cairo, and part-time eco-warrior on a quest to find new plants to cure cancer and such."

Brennan added her own findings. "Isotope analysis of the bones and dental samples confirm the region of birth and upbringing, as do signs of mild malnutrition in early life. Results relating to Professor Mubarak's adult life are understandably equivocal, given that he spent time in many regions."

.

Hodgins was now aghast. "I can't believe he's dead. Not that I ever met him; but Mubarak had a following. He seriously pissed off some of the pharmaceutical companies in the past ten years by patenting his botanical discoveries, and insisting upon ethical clauses when big pharma companies wanted to develop new drugs. No animal testing, transparency on R&D costs, plus capping of pricing on new drugs to allow countries outside the Western world access to cutting edge treatments."

Booth took this new information onboard. He was going have to talk to Caroline Julian about getting corroborating evidence and some cooperation from the pharmaceutical companies. They tended to have armies of lawyers at their disposal; there was no way that he was going to go knocking down those doors without some serious warrant powers behind him.

.

"As for the cause of death" said Cam. "Massive nicotine poisoning was confirmed from tissue samples, with dermal and subdermal tissues of the limbs having the highest concentrations. These areas had tobacco leaves wrapped next to the skin under his bandages."

"Was it enough to kill him, Cam?" asked Booth.

"I believe so" replied Cam. "Tobacco is extremely toxic, particularly when ingested through the oral or dermal routes. The nicotine in the end of a cigar is sufficient to kill a small child if ingested."

"Wow" said Booth.

"One more reason not to smoke around children" commented Angela with a tone of distaste.

.

"What we are trying to confirm now, is whether the poisoning occurred before or after his pseudo-mummification" said Cam. "Hodgins has mapped the tobacco leaf particulates from the scene and those found on and around the body to establish a timeline because insect activity was almost non-existent."

Booth raised an eyebrow at that. "No insect activity?" he asked Hodgins.

"Not enough to give us a clear indicator on the time of death. The nicotine in tobacco is a powerful alkaloid poison and a natural insecticide, which makes the task more challenging, but not impossible. Cam has been working the tissue degradation angle under mummification conditions with Egyptology, while I have been studying tobacco leaves,…and I found some interesting anomalies" said Hodgins with a pause for dramatic flair.

His efforts were wasted on those gathered. But Angela took the opportunity to bring up the photographs and charts that Hodgins had prepared for the case.

.

"There were three sub varieties of _Nicotiana tabacum_ leave found in and around the curing shed, commonly referred to as Brightleaf, Burley and Cavendish. It appears that this shed was used by a cooperative of local tobacco growers to maximise profits and minimise overheads. I undertook a mapping exercise of all leaves found in the curing shed, and traced them back to their respective farms. None of these tobacco leaf types were of the type found wrapped around our mummified victim."

Cam interjected. "Analysis of the leaves which poisoned our victim were a commercial strain of tobacco; much higher in nicotine content and potency."

"But the real smoking gun was in the particulates _underneath_ the commercial leaves" said Hodgins. "There were traces of dokham tobacco, which is native to the Middle East – not grown anywhere in the Pittsylvania region."

Angela adjusted the images on the screen. "I did an analysis of leaf patterns imprinted on the arms and legs of our mummy. There is evidence that the Middle Eastern variety leaves were scraped off the skin and a soapy residue left on the skin matches the chemical composition of the commercial leaves."

"You sound so hot when you say _chemical composition_, Ange" remarked Hodgins in a low voice. Angela grinned, but wiped the smile off her dial, replacing it with a cool professional expression, when she saw Cam fixing to blow a gasket over their Public Display of Affection.

.

"Mubarak wrote a number of papers about the traditional medicinal uses of dokham tobacco leaves" said Hodgins.

"The leaves have analgesic and anti-inflammatory properties" said Brennan. "Given the extent and severity of degenerative changes to the joints of the lower limbs, It is a possibility that the tobacco leaves were being used as a traditional poultice."

Cam nodded her head considering. "That could be a possibility Dr. Brennan. When the FBI track down a close friend or family member, we can ask them."

"We've got some interviews at A.N.U tomorrow with the faculty. Hopefully, they can tell us something about Mubarak now that we have made an ID. So does that wrap it up Cam? I could do with an early night, y'know" said Booth with a smirk.

As Cam agreed with the decision to wrap up, Angela gave a snort at the thought of Booth trying to convince Brennan to get an early night.

"Yes. Booth, I agree. Please take me home to bed" said Brennan, as she was feeling quite fatigued. She couldn't understand why everyone suddenly found her statement funny.

"Yeah, you must be tired Bones. Let's get you home, we'll order in when we get there" suggested Booth, trying to steer Bones toward the door.

"Did I say something amusing?" Brennan asked Angela, stopping Booth from ushering her out of the office by placing a hand on his arm.

"No, Sweetie" said Angela. "You just have no idea how long some of us have waited to hear you say _that_ in public."

"Ah! The innuendo in your tone suggests that you interpreted my comment as a sexual proposition. I will concede that this could be considered amusing in a juvenile context" said Brennan.

Cam threw her hands in the air and grumbled a hasty 'Goodnight' as she beat a hasty retreat back to the relative sanity of her own office.

"Well, it just conjured up images of Agent Hot-stuff here having his way with you. It was kind of hot, Bren" said Angela with a saucy grin.

"Bones!" warned Booth. "Not going there, okay?"

Brennan gave a shrug and started to make her way to the door.

"But, Booth! Angela is presenting a very one-sided interpretation of this scenario. What if I prefer to be the one having my way with you?" Brennan argued.


	14. Reminiscences and Regurgitation

**The Rings in the Heart **

**Chapter 14 - Reminiscences & Regurgitation**

**.**

**Disclaimer: **BONES does not belong to me. I don't have it in me to be a media mogul

**A/N: Again, my apologies for slow updates. RL is insanely busy…**

* * *

American University Campus – Washington DC

The FBI issued black SUV peeled off Rockwood Parkway and entered the Fletcher Gate of the university campus. As usual, Booth was driving.

"Slow down in here. Campus security are extremely vigilant" advised Brennan as he accelerated around the curved slip-road.

"C'mon Bones! They're not going to make trouble for a Federal Agent" he scoffed.

"This institution has a long history of collaborative work with Federal law enforcement. The campus cops are going to be immune to displays of your Federal credentials, Booth. Even with your charming smile," she replied with a smile of her own.

"Are you saying that my _'credentials'_ are charming?" asked Booth as he pulled into a parking space.

Brennan rolled her eyes as she twisted in her seat to reach the buckle release on her injured left side, but Booth reached over to click the release button. Her right hand met his as it reached the mechanism. She started to protest.

"I've got it" he said, as it clicked under his hand and the belt released. "You can make it up to me by being my campus tour guide" he teased.

Brennan let herself out of the vehicle and was adjusting her sling as Booth came around from the driver's side. He reached into the vehicle and handed her the small bag that she had brought along with her and shut the door of the vehicle.

"You've been a visitor to this campus before, Booth" said Brennan striding off in the direction of the Bender Library.

Booth pointed his key tag at the SUV to lock it and took a few jogging steps to catch up to her and placed his hand on the back of her upper arm. She glanced sideways at him with a grin, and he slipped his arm lightly over her shoulder, still wary of the patchwork of bruising over her left shoulder.

"This is where we first met, remember?" he asked.

"I have an eidetic memory, Booth. Therefore, I am not likely to ever forget our first meeting. We are going to the Hurst Building today, which is not the same building where my lecture was held" she clarified as they walked.

"Well, as you know, my memory is of the normal variety, Bones. The day we met is burned into my brain though. Y'know, that day, I had my first _'hot for teacher'_ moment since the ninth grade" he admitted with a grin which was a bizarre mixture of cockiness and self-depreciation.

"I don't know what that means, but it sounds like some sort of _sexual fantasy_" said Brennan, her voice getting a little sing-song over the sexual fantasy part.

"That, is what _'hot for teacher'_ means, baby. You were giving that lecture to a hall full of people, surrounded by human remains getting their flesh eaten off, and you were the hottest teahcer that I had ever seen" he told her, as they approached the large open quadrangle area.

"You wanted to have sex with me in a room full of students, and with human remains present?" asked Brennan taking Booth's forearm and steering him down a pathway that ran diagonally across the Eric Friedheim quadrangle toward the Hurst Building.

"No. Not _literally_ Bones! Sheesh. You remember right? I saw that look you gave me when we first met…you were checking me out."

"What _'look'_ would that be?" she asked stopping, and turning to deliberately give him an appraising look that shouldn't have been unleashed outside the bedroom.

"Yeah, Temperance. That's the one; and probably not the look to be giving me just before we go to interview people about our victim" he said, taking her hand. Brennan gave his had a squeeze and tugged him in the direction of the Hurst Building, where hopefully, some answers awaited them.

* * *

The lab of Professor Nizam Mubarak was a climate-controlled technological marvel. The entry to the lab area was via a decontamination section, where both visitors were required to surrender their shoes for moulded slip on boots. Booth suspiciously wiggled his stripy socked toes as he donned the lab boots, and was relieved to find that the footwear was actually very comfortable. Booth surrendered his suit jacket and donned the waxed paper gown which he had been given. He then proceeded to help Brennan with her gown, but she refused to take her jacket off, because it would have necessitated the removal of her sling.

.

The next area was an airlock which allowed them entry into the main section of the lab, as the door opened, the temperature and humidity rose immediately, and the air smelled of tropical things growing in a loamy environment. Brennan gave a sigh of annoyance as she broke out into a light all-over sweat, thanks to the side effects of her pain medications.

They were met by a petite Hispanic woman, who introduced herself as Connie, explaining in her Columbian drawl that it was her anglicised name. She had been working here for two years as one of three assistants working with Professor Mubarak and his colleagues on a number of projects.

"I am enrolled in a Masters program now, so I continue on here for another two years at least" Connie told them. "Come. I will take you on a tour of the lab and we can talk more, yes?"

Booth agreed, and Brennan nodded. She was feeling increasingly uncomfortable and a little nauseated breathing the thick, pungent air. Being distracted by the mass of exotic greenery that was begging to be explored was probably a good thing. It reminded her of some of the far flung field exploits of her past, before the Jeffersonian; before her career as an author, before the murder investigations, before Booth. Brennan became caught up in an unusual moment of self-reflection, internalising her own Anthropological methods to a past chapter of her life, and trying to describe it within an ethnographical framework. It was an interesting exercise. Most people did this regularly of course, and would call the process wool-gathering over how far their life had come.

.

"Hey, are you okay?" asked Booth in a murmur near her ear. She startled a little as his hand touched her uninjured shoulder, and she suppressed the urge to gag as the nausea returned, with a side-order of dizziness.

"Yes, I'm fine" she reported, but she wasn't. Her face had become waxen, with a greenish tinge that was attempting to blend with the leafy greenness of the botany lab.

"Pardon me, Doctor Brennan, but you look like you are going to toss your cookies soon. In Columbia, I worked in hospital as a nurse, so I am familiar with this look that you have on your face" interrupted Connie.

"I didn't eat any cookies…" said Brennan battling for control, her jaw tingling and mouth salivating in a prelude to tossing a few metaphorical snickerdoodles anyway.

"Is there somewhere cooler, maybe with a bathroom, nearby?" Booth asked the now concerned lab assistant.

"Certainly, Agent Booth. It would be unacceptable to have anyone contaminating our plants with vomit" replied Connie.

.

Booth glanced at the lab assistant and saw that she was serious. Muttering 'Squints' in a derogatory fashion under his breath, he placed a supporting arm around an increasingly unsteady Brennan to lead her through an inner doorway, which blasted them with an overhead air curtain.

The blast of warm moist air was the last straw for Brennan; ugly red patches had broken out on the skin of her neck and she stumbled a little as her gut spasmed in warning. Spying a trough sink running along one wall, she reached out toward it in vain. But as she gripped onto the waxed paper covered arm of her partner for support, she realised it was too late.

For the second time on this case, Dr. Temperance Brennan decorated the boots of an FBI colleague with her stomach contents. Upon this occasion, Special Agent Seeley Booth just happened to be the lucky recipient.


	15. Enter the Emo

**The Rings in the Heart**

**Chapter 15 – Enter the Emo**

**.**

**Disclaimer: **BONES belongs to FOX & TPTB. I've covered the apologies from pretty much every angle that I can think of…

* * *

Botany Lab – Hurst Building, ANU, Washington D.C.

Slouched on a couch in the office of the late Professor Nizam Mubarack, Seeley Booth sat waiting and wiggling the stripy-socked toes that were at the end of his outstretched legs. His 'lab boots' had been whisked away by an Emo female intern, who was taller than he was, and excepting her large brown eyes, she could have been Fishers' sister. She had promised to return with a replacement pair of boots for him. Brennan had also been spirited away to freshen up, but not before she had announced feeling immediate relief from her episode of emesis over the boots of her partner. Brennan was the poster-child for the concept of a cast-iron stomach, so two cookie-tossing incidents in one week was tantamount to lightning striking twice in the same place. It probably meant nothing, but the investigator in Booth was still worried enough to want to find out what was going on. Since the moment he had laid eyes on Temperance Brennan, he had pegged her as the type who pushed herself relentlessly. But following the accident in Tightsqueeze, and within the context of their longer term experiment, there were now times when he could almost see her pushing her emotional limits as well her physical and mental ones.

.

Brennan entered the office a couple of minutes later, and glanced a little sheepishly at Booth's toes, devoid of footwear. He patted the space next to him on the couch, indicating that she should take a seat. She still looked a little washed out, but the greenish tinge and blotchiness had disappeared.

"Hey, Bones. Feeling better?" he asked, as she sat down. He placed a hand just above her knee and gave a supportive pat, not really knowing what mood a sick Bones would deal him. Surprisingly, she placed her own hand over his and gave it a squeeze, bumping her shoulder against his with a small grin of chagrin.

"The painkilling meds are disagreeing with me, Booth. Vicodin puts me to sleep, the acetaminophen with codeine fails to provide adequate pain relief, and the tramadol, while effective as an analgesic makes me as sick as a puppy."

"Eh, that would be either 'a sick puppy' or 'as sick as a dog'. Do you want me to take you home?" he enquired.

"Absolutely not, we should continue on with our work here today. I actually do feel better" she replied, placing emphasis on her improvement by intertwining their phalanges.

.

At that moment, Connie entered the office with a bottle of water for Brennan.

Brennan addressed Connie, "I apologise for vomiting in your lab. It happens frequently with visitors to my own lab, but we deal with human remains rather than plants."

"Think nothing of it Doctor Brennan. I thought that you might like some cold water" replied Connie, proffering the water and realising belatedly that the cookie-tossing Anthropologist would not be able to open the bottle with her left arm in a sling. Add to that the fact that Brennan's only free hand was in the grip of the FBI agent beside her, and Connie became a little unsure about what to do next. Booth extended his free hand to take the bottle from the Botanist, as Brennan reluctantly freed her hand from his.

"Thank you" said Brennan, to Connie for bringing the water, and to Booth who removed the lid of the bottle for her.

.

"You look much better now. This is morning sickness, yes?" asked Connie, after seeing their display of affection, and immediately jumping to what appeared to be an obvious conclusion. Brennan almost choked on her mouthful of water.

"Wait, what? Slow it down, and back it up for me," ordered Booth.

"The two of you, you know. You are obviously lovers, yes? She is having your baby, right?" said Connie, drawling out the word 'lovers' in her Columbian accent, making Booth blush prettily. Brennan gave a short laugh.

.

"Yes" said Brennan, "…and to my knowledge, no."

"To your knowledge?" squeaked Booth.

Connie nodded sagely. "Well, you can never be 100% certain."

"That is true" agreed Brennan.

"Whoa!" said Booth. Raising his hands in the air and turning to Brennan. "You're _pregnant_?"

"No. My vomiting is a side effect of the painkillers that I'm taking" said Brennan, now perplexed that she was repeating herself.

"Oh", said Booth and Connie in unison, for wildly different reasons. Booth dropped his hands back onto his lap as his eyes locked with Brennan's in one of their famed _'unresolved issues we haven't talked about yet' _staring contests. It had been a while. Their longer term experiment had given them plenty of other important issues to work through together emotionally. On the physical side of their relationship, they had been focussing on recreational rather than procreative issues, and making attempts to break the Laws of Physics of course.

.

Brennan broke the impasse by blurting "I still want a baby, Booth."

"You do?"

"Yes."

"You mean, with me?

"Yes, obviously. I'm not having intercourse with anyone else."

"Good to know, Temperance."

"I mean, that I'm only interested in having sex with you, Booth."

"Feeling's mutual here, and if it's what you want..."

.

Their conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door. The Emo intern had returned with clean boots for the FBI Agent. Connie, who was standing stunned at the content of the conversation that she had just witnessed. Booth and Brennan glanced sideways at the Botanist and looked back at each other.

"Maybe, we should discuss this later?" suggested Booth.

"Agreed," said Brennan decisively.

.

Connie looked at the Emo intern and beckoned her into the room. A pair of clean boots were placed on the floor next to Booth.

"Agent Booth and Doctor Brennan, this is Asha. She is…pardon me, was, Professor Mubarak's intern. We are all very sorry for your loss, Asha" said Connie with genuine sympathy.

"Death comes to us all, Connie. Without fear, I await its' cold, terminal embrace" stated Asha in a monotone.

Brennan stared at the intern all thoughts of procreation placed aside. Looking past her pale face powder, black lipstick and heavy eye make-up. The evidence was irrefutable.

"You, are a relative of Professor Mubarak, and like him, you also have physical markers of Marfan's Syndrome" said Brennan to Asha.

"Yes, Doctor Brennan. You are very observant. Nizam was my brother. He was a great man, and it is my fault that he is dead" said Asha in a resigned tone.

.

Booth gave a sigh of frustration. Now he was going to have to interrogate the Emo; a scenario which he didn't want to contemplate. If there had of been a clown handy, he would have happily squeezed off a few rounds, or under the circumstances, perhaps cutting would be more fitting.

Maybe he could get Sweets in to work his Psychological mumbo-jumbo instead, because he really needed to talk to Bones.


	16. Dancing Around the Truth

**The Rings in the Heart**

**Chapter 16 - Dancing around the Truth**

**.**

**Disclaimer: **BONES is owned by FOX. No infringement or disrespect is intended.

**A/N: *waves* Thanks for continuing to follow, favourite and alert this story. It is on its way toward wrapping up, so if you've got some feedback, now is the time.**

* * *

The Hoover Building, Washington D.C.

Through the one-way glass, Lance Sweets was observing the mute and willowy Asha Mubarak as she sat alone in the Interrogation Room; her tall thin frame dressed in unrelieved black, her black lacquered fingernails worrying her now empty plastic cup. A cardboard box containing folders was on the table next to her.

The door to the observation room opened, admitting Brennan, Booth, and the tail end of what was a fascinating conversation.

"Bones, I won't allow you in the Interrogation Room when you're high on pain meds, period" said Booth.

"I've only taken a half-dose, Booth, so the effects are less likely to impair my judgment. It is unlikely that I would embarrass you again, by having someone else asking if I am pregnant with your child" she said in an attempt to reason with him.

"Now wait a minute. I was not embarrassed. I was just taken by surprise earlier, plus you'd just thrown up over me. Then there was that whole 'nothing is 100% certain' thing, for a minute it made sense y'know?"

.

Sweets' jaw dropped. He couldn't resist interrupting. "You're pregnant, Dr. Brennan?"

Booth and Brennan, turned their heads simultaneously to look daggers at Sweets. "No!" they replied in unison.

"Although you can never be 100% certain, right?" said Booth directing a teasing smile at Brennan.

"Ri-ight," replied Brennan with a secretive smile in return.

"Okay. Now I'm totally confused" said Sweets, suppressing a desire to throw his hands in the air. "So you're not pregnant, but there's always a chance that you might be, and even if you are, you're not saying. That whole 'will they, won't they' relationship thing that the two of you had going on for years is being replaced by speculation over your desire to procreate."

"You've got it in one, Sweets. He's pretty good at this stuff, don't you think, Bones?" asked Booth.

"I'm impressed at how quickly he caught on" said Brennan in mock seriousness.

"Guys. You know how annoying it is when you do this. I'm in the room" said a now frustrated Sweets.

.

"Okay, enough" said Booth with a chopping motion of his hands. "I am going to interview the Emo, Sweets. You need to tell me what is going on in her Emo-brain through my earpiece. You know the drill."

Brennan made an attempt to follow Booth, as he opened the door, but he held up a single finger to stop her.

"Nah-ah-ah, Bones. You, are staying here, with Sweets, because you're high, remember? Don't let him use his shrink-tricks to make you divulge any baby stuff, okay?"

.

Brennan, who Sweets observed was more visibly relaxed than usual, and most definitely glassy-eyed, gave an uncharacteristically evil chuckle.

Raising her voice as Booth exited the Observation Room, Brennan announced loudly "I am not high, and I won't tell anyone about us having a baby together, Booth."

Seeley Booth stood in the corridor of his workplace, still holding open the door the Observation Room, as a dozen FBI staff did a collective double-take. The voice of Camille Saroyan interrupted his attempt to will a hole to open up in the floor and swallow him.

.

"So. Am I to expect a request form for Dr. Brennan to take leave to go into Rehab, to go on Maternity leave, or both?" asked Cam.

"Funny, Cam. You're here to do the samples?" asked Booth.

"Yes. Here are the consent forms. I'll be waiting in here until you're ready" replied Cam with a smirk, knowing that the wait was going to be entertaining.

"Okay. Give me five minutes, ten tops?" said Booth, as he turned and headed toward the door to the Interrogation Room.

* * *

Apartment of Dr. Temperance Brennan

The door to the apartment clicked closed, kicking off their discussion…okay, the bickering again.

"Booth. It has only just gone five. I would like to go back to the Lab for a couple of hours" complained Brennan.

"Not happening, Bones. Cam busted you when she showed up at The Hoover to take Asha's DNA samples" he replied, placing the box of folders that Asha Mubarak had provided them with onto the floor.

"I only took a half-dose of the Vicodin with my lunch. I don't believe that I was impaired"

"Trust me, Bones. You were impaired. Announcing our intention to have a baby together? We haven't even had time to talk it through…"

"It wasn't an announcement. I simply provided you with reassurance that I wouldn't talk about it with Sweets…"

"Yeah, I know. It was a pity that there were a bunch of FBI staff, and Cam who witnessed that 'reassurance'. They will be sure to put their own spin on it, and before you know it, people will be springing surprise baby showers on you."

"That is wrong. It would be pure conjecture, based upon hearsay…" Brennan was interrupted by the ringing of her cellphone. Manipulating her phone with her good hand, she took the call. Before she could even say her name, she pulled the phone away from her ear as a high pitched squealing came from the receiver. It wasn't a wrong number from a fax machine; it was Angela Montenegro.

.

"_Ahhhh! Sweetie, Sweetie…I can't believe you didn't tell me…" _screamed the voice of Angela, loud enough for Booth, and pitched high enough for any dog within a two block radius to hear.

Booth mimed Brennan an _'I told you so'_ and softened the blow by trailing his fingers down the side of her face, as the realisation hit her. She spoke into the phone.

"Ange. I'm not pregnant. I will have to call you back." Brennan disconnected the call without waiting for a response. The sounds of protest were cut off abruptly.

"Ouch, Bones. You just hung up on your BFF there" observed Booth.

"I know that. Booth, if I am unable to navigate the social mores around simply considering parenthood, am I even fit to become a mother?" she asked.

Booth pulled her into a _Guy Hug Plus_, it was the same as the standard Guy Hug, but it permitted a little more grab-ass. He kissed the top of her head and rubbed his cheek against her hair.

"You know the answer to that question, Temperance. Besides, you don't need a license to make a baby, all you need is…" he began. "Ouch!" said Booth as he was poked in the ribs with a cellphone.

.

"This experiment that we embarked on together, Booth, it has too many variables. I believe that we are achieving what we set out to do, but sometimes it appears that success or failure, are not as measureable or predictable as I postulated."

Booth gave her squinty assessment some thought, as he ran his hands further down her back to rest on her hips. He pulled his head away from her hair so that he could look into her face and tell her the truth as he saw it.

"When you're making your way through life, there are decisions to be made. Some people use their heads. You prefer hard facts and experiments to help you make decisions. Most people use their hearts, or their gut to make a choice, and it's a gamble. Experiments are a lot like gambling, there's an element of chance whatever method you use. Your method only works to a point, Bones. When there are too many factors involved…"

"I need to take a chance?" she asked, with uncertainty in her eyes.

"You need to trust your heart" he said, his own eyes conveying only love and sincerity.

"What if I can't bring myself to trust my own heart? What if I'm still unsure what that means?"

"Then you need to trust mine, until you do" he replied.

"I need to take a chance with you?"

"That's only the very first step. You take a chance with me, then we're taking a chance together. It's easier that way"

"We've been here before, Booth. Giving 'us' a chance" she realised, her memory of the smell of rain, the wet flagstones, and the darkened plaza outside the Hoover returned to drive the message home.

.

He rewarded the moment by giving her a brief kiss on the lips.

"Relationships aren't about straight lines; like your logic, like the bullet from my sniper rifle. It goes around in circles, like a dance. The song ends, you're back where you started, and it's time to make a plan for dancing the next number."

The metaphor appealed to the writer in Temperance Brennan, and she felt a twinge in her chest as she recalled the night when Booth had burned the _'Lil Bones'_ effigy. He had wished her a dance. Another piece of the relationship puzzle fell into place, as she comprehended the significance of that wish.

"If love is dancing, then I want to dance with you, Seeley Booth"


	17. Much Ado About Soufflé

**The Rings in the Heart**

**Chapter 17 – Much Ado About Soufflé **

**.**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own BONES. For legal reasons, TPTB won't read this; for my own reasons, I'm really happy about that.

**A/N: Thanks so much to everyone for reading and reviewing. This chapter is going to exploring with everyone's favourite Psychiatrist and Chef - enjoy!**

* * *

Lunch service had wrapped up ten minutes previously, so Gordon Gordon Wyatt, _'Masterchef'_ and erstwhile Psychiatrist, decided that it was time to take his leave from the cacophony of clanging and crashing which signified that the kitchen was in clean-up mode. Tossing a spinach salad in a raspberry vinaigrette, he took an elegant bowl with lines that drew the eye to the dark green leaves against the white porcelain when he placed them within it. Taking a small handful of toasted pine nuts he garnished the salad with a graceful flourish that belied a man of his imposing size. Sniffing suspiciously at the air, he glanced over to the now vacant line of industrial ovens and cursed.

.

"Mon dieu! My soufflés!" he exclaimed, as he rushed over to save his lunch. "Where has that rapscallion apprentice of mine escaped to? No doubt taking another opportunity to dally, yet again, with _Lady Nicotine_."

Shaking his head to himself at the minor scandal of it all, Gordon Gordon opened the oven, taking the edge of his apron to form an impromptu oven mitt, with which he deftly slid the tray out of the oven, placing it gently onto the empty stovetop. Turing off the oven and taking his tray, complete with two ramekins that blossomed with almost identical cheese soufflés, the chef bumped the door of the oven shut, heading back to the Chef's table to plate up his lunch.

.

Hearing the creak of the heavy kitchen door which lead to the rear of the restaurant, he turned and prepared to unleash a few choice words of reprimand to his nicotine-addicted apprentice, for dereliction of his soufflé duties, and so forth. Instead of the errant young man, he saw the beautiful and be-slinged Dr. Temperance Brennan attempting to negotiate her entry to the kitchen using her single functional arm. He rushed forward to pull the door open, and placed out an arm to steady her as she stumbled forward without the weight of the heavy kitchen door.

.

"Doctor Brennan! What a simply delightful surprise it is to see you here. I would ask if you are well, but your appearance suggests that you have been in the wars, undermining the polite intent of my query somewhat," he rambled good-naturedly.

"Doctor Wyatt, I'm glad that you're still here. I just managed to escape from the lab for an hour," said Brennan in greeting, with a fond smile, as they exchanged kisses on each cheek.

"Please, call me Gordon. Doctor, or Chef, is too formal. If you have no objections, I shall call you Temperance," he replied.

"Certainly, Gordon. Either that, or Tempe is acceptable," she said.

"Ah, I must admit my preference for Temperance, my dear. Your given name has so many layers of meaning and rolls delectably from the tongue," he said in a conspiratorial tone, as he prepared two plates and added some sautéed vegetables beside the soufflé ramekins. Brennan related the details of her recent accident, that resulted in the sling and fading facial bruising.

.

"You do know that Temperance is not actually my given name," she informed the chef, after consideration of his earlier statement of preference.

Gordon Gordon gave a bark of a laugh. "A mere technicality, I assure you. Come, join me for a late luncheon and I shall explain myself to your satisfaction." He swept out of the kitchen, with platters balanced expertly on his forearms, leaving Brennan with no option but to follow him through to the restaurant.

Placing the plates on the pristine navy linen tablecloth, the chef waved Brennan to take a seat in the corner booth behind the table. A couple of whispered words to one of the bar staff brought the accoutrements of a fine dining experience to the table; a small basket of French bread, a carafe of water, glasses, cutlery and serviettes. Taking one of the white serviettes and opening it with a flourish, Gordon Gordon indicated his intent to place it over the lap of his beautiful companion with a charming grin of self-depreciation.

.

"Chef's Cheese Soufflé, served with sautéed baby vegetables, and a side of baby spinach salad tossed in raspberry vinaigrette. Bon appetit!" He announced, noting her carefully schooled response to the repetition of the word 'baby'.

"Thank you. I had planned on eating lunch after my visit to you…," began Brennan, taking a fork to her soufflé and tasting a small piece.

"Nonsense. Your visit is fortuitously timed and will no doubt prove to be a most efficient use of or collective time, yes?" asked the chef.

Brennan nodded in response, her mouth already occupied with a second, larger mouthful of cheesy goodness.

.

"Returning to our earlier discussion, Temperance. I realise, of course, that you were christened Joy, but you have always known yourself as Temperance. The process of discovering your _'true'_ identity presents an interesting symmetry if you consider your parallel journey to discover 'joy' in your life, while wearing your virtuous protective armour of 'temperance'; or moderation in action, thought, feeling, or restraint." The chef took a large bite of his soufflé and made appreciative subvocalisations as he chewed.

"You are basing your assessment on my name? I fail to see the relevance," retorted Brennan.

"Try interpreting my analogy with your mind in the mode of a best-selling author, rather than that of the empirical scientist" he advised.

.

She considered his advice over a couple of mouthfuls of salad. "You are referring to the development in the relationship between Booth and myself. I can appreciate the analogy within this context," she conceded. "But this isn't what I came to speak with you about."

"Of course, my dear," replied the chef with magnanimous wave of his glass of iced water. "I would imagine that your current concerns are centered around your conflicting desires to maintain control over the elements of your first serious committed relationship, or whether to throw caution to the wind and acquiesce to your biological imperative to have a child; with the man that you love more than you life itself."

.

Brennan's fork dropped from her fingers, as her face blanched in reaction. The sound of the cutlery ringing against the edge of her plate triggered a flaming reaction in her cheeks.

Gordon Gordon placed a conciliatory hand on her upper arm, realising that he had hit a nerve. "Forgive me, Temperance. I do ramble on, and my clinical insights have an annoying habit of surfacing at the most inappropriate moments. Have I made a faux pas by referring your biological imperative when you are already in the early stages of pregnancy?"

.

Brennan took a sip of water to suppress an irrational urge to scream. She simply couldn't fathom why everyone, including highly educated and rational individuals, were jumping to this insupportable assumption; and realised that this would be a moment where she could employ the sarcastic response _'Do I have a sign on my forehead?'_

"I am not pregnant. Although for some reason, everyone around me thinks that I am, despite my denials. Just because I am engaging in sexual intercourse with Booth, it does not preclude our taking reasonable precautions to prevent an unplanned pregnancy. Furthermore, I haven't made a firm decision at this time, despite any _'biological imperative'_. Booth and I still have to discuss this in further detail."

"Oh, but I think that you already have made a decision, Temperance. It is simply a matter of relinquishing the stranglehold that your virtuous constraint has over the joy which your heart ultimately desires. Here, have some more salad; spinach provides an excellent boost of pre-natal iron and folate," said the chef with a knowing half-smile, as Brennan stared at him.

.

"This is not what I came here to discuss with you," she replied, the tension evident in her voice. It was almost as if Gordon Gordon had been a fly on her bedroom wall last night, listening to her discussion with Booth as they were sprawled naked across her bed. After they had abandoned those very same 'reasonable precautions' that she had just referred to in her own defense. Her cheeks flamed in response, yet again.

"Yet here we are, Temperance, discussing precisely what is on your mind. As a scientist, you can appreciate the spectrum of physiological and psychosocial responses to the behavioural triggers of reproduction. Why ever would you believe that you yourself would be excluded from the procreative constant that mankind has been subject to for eons? Yes. Modern women can artificially suppress and delay aspects of their reproductive function, but in your own scenario, why would you want to? Agent Booth is a virile man, a suitable mate, an _Alpha Male_." Gordon Gordon took another large bite of his lunch, smiling benignly as he chewed.

.

They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes. The chime and vibration from her smartphone indicated a message from the lab. The chef waved a non-chalant hand at the device as it appeared in her hand, indicating that she should check her message.

The update was from Cam. Yet another series of twists in the case. There was no direct physical or temporal evidence that Asha Mubarak was involved with the death of her brother. The DNA from Asha Mubarak also turned up another anomaly. She was not Nizam's sister; she was his daughter. Knowing that Booth would be receiving an identical message, Brennan knew that she needed to get back to the lab as soon as possible. Booth disliked it when domestic relationships became convoluted and realised that she would probably need to sit in on a follow-up interview with the Emo, who was no longer a suspect.

"Urgent news?" enquired Gordon Gordon.

"I'm afraid so. Yes," replied Brennan.

"A great pity, my dear. But pray, why did you come to see me?" he asked.

"Cherry Brandy Pie," blurted Brennan.

"Oh! You would like the recipe to bake it for Agent Booth? How delightful!" He lowered his voice to confide something to Brennan. "I generally don't divulge my culinary secrets. But in this case, I will make an exception."

Brennan wondered why the chef would be inclined to make such an exception, but thanked him anyway. She would ask Booth later on tonight.


	18. She's My Cherry Pie Need a Warrant

**The Rings in the Heart**

**Chapter 18 – She's My Cherry Pie (Gonna need a Warrant)**

**.**

**Disclaimer: **BONES is not mine – Rats! Foiled again…

**A/N: I had so much fun with GG Wyatt in the last chapter that I may have to write something else featuring him in the future. Thanks for all the reviews & a *wave* to all the lurkers **

* * *

The Jeffersonian Institute

The bones of Nizam Mubarak had been cleaned and laid out in precise anatomical order in the Bone Room, ready for the focussed attention of Dr. Temperance Brennan. The flesh of the victim had surrendered up all its secrets, but there was always additional evidence to be obtained from the bones. Whilst Brennan had been at her impromptu lunch / therapy session with Gordon-Gordon Wyatt, the well-oiled machine of the Jeffersonian Anthropology Unit had continued on down the path of forensic discovery.

Brennan entered the deserted Bone Room with her blue lab coat over her arm, surveying her prepared workspace with a cursory glance. She tugged at the Velcro fasteners on her sling, preparing to remove it, dropping her lab coat to the floor in the process.

.

"You never did call me back, last night," said Angela from the doorway.

"I didn't actually specify that I would return your call last night. By the time Booth and I had finished talking, it was close to 2 a.m., and far too late to call you, Ange."

Angela made her way over to help Brennan get her lab coat on. The range of movement in the injured left shoulder of the Anthropologist was improving, along with the level of pain.

"Sweetie. This is one of those important best friend things that we haven't quite ironed the wrinkles out of yet…," seeing a wrinkle of consternation forming between Brennans' eyebrows, the artist shifted the conversation down a gear; into a more literal mode. "When I hear, from numerous sources, that my best friend announces to the entire Hoover Building that she's having a baby, I, as your best friend, call you. You, as my best friend, need to tell me all the details."

"As I told you last night, I am not pregnant," explained Brennan, still somewhat exasperated from her lunch with Dr. Wyatt.

Angela absently flicked her hair over her shoulder, and placed a hand on one hip. "Yeah, I got that message, loud and clear. Then you hung up on me! What is with you, Brennan?"

"All those people at the Hoover drew a flawed conclusion from what they overheard. Then they proceeded to gossip about it, just as Booth predicted. I'll concede that I should have provided more information to you within the context of what occurred, when we spoke, but Booth and I were in the middle of…" Brennan paused. The conversation with Booth; it had been one of _'their' _moments, and she was not really comfortable talking about it to her friend.

.

Angela smirked and lowered her voice. "So my phone call interrupted something?"

"Yes. But it was an intimate moment that I'd prefer not to discuss," replied Brennan.

"You were having sex? Why did you even answer the phone? Oh, Sweetie, I'll bet it was _totally _hot!" said Angela, becoming animated at the prospect of a juicy disclosure in recompense for being hung up on.

"No, we were not engaged in a sex act at that time, Ange!" said Brennan shaking her head at the notion that even she would have taken a phone call whilst _in flagrante_ with Booth last night. "I really have to examine these bones now, because I am going to bake a pie when I get home, which requires some preparation time."

.

Brennan snapped on some gloves and experimentally extended her left arm over the table, to reach for the skull. The twinge from her shoulder was bearable, and the discomfort retreated after she took the weight of the skull into her right hand; so she continued on with her examination.

"A pie? What kind?" asked Angela, momentarily abandoning her quest for details of sexy-fun-times that her BFF was having with Special Agent Studly.

"Cherry Brandy pie. It will require an hour to prepare, and another half an hour to bake. I bought the ingredients on my way back from lunch with Dr. Wyatt." Brennan placed the skull upside down on a tray and positioned the powerful magnifying light source over the foramen magnum in order to examine the internal surface of the cranial vault.

"Wow, Sweetie! Cherries? Talk about symbolism. You really do want to have Booth's baby, don't you?" Angela asked, her voice softening with emotion. She placed a hand on her friends' forearm. As Brennan turned her head from her examination, she made eye contact with her best friend. "Bren, I know you want to have a child. I'm really happy for you both. Seriously."

Brennan gave her friend a smile. "Thanks, Ange. But the choice of a cherry pie was because Booth said he liked it. The fertility symbolism of cherries was not a factor in my decision. In traditional Chinese culture, cherries represent immortality. Living forever is not possible, nor will consuming cherry pie extend life."

"Thanks. I'd already worked out the truth about immortality though, Sweetie," replied the artist, removing her hand from Brennan's arm. "Any pie that contains fruit is going to be a symbol of fertility. Booth has being trying to seduce you with that particular brand of symbology, using his pie for years."

"That sounds very much like Psychology…" began Brennan.

"I know, I know. You hate Psychology…" finished Angela.

.

* * *

The Hoover Building

Asha Mubarak was back in the Interrogation Room for the second time in as many days. She remained impassive and withdrawn. Sweets believed that this was a combination of grief and her normal melancholic disposition.

On the previous evening, in between a deep and meaningful conversation, and the carnal call of their bedroom; Booth and Brennan had actually sorted through the contents of the box of documents and photographs that Asha had provided. The sister (now daughter) of the victim blamed herself for Nizam's death; her reason for doing so was based upon a recent rift that she had caused through her involvement in a project with a pharmaceutical research organisation. Nizam had discovered Asha's working relationship with Ricox Industries and accused her of betrayal of the ethical standards that he had worked decades to achieve, bringing shame to the Mubarak family name. The confrontation had been very public, witnessed by colleagues and friends at a faculty dinner, just prior to his departure to a remote location in the Congo for four months. He had not been seen since the night of the confrontation, nor was there any evidence that Nizam Mubarak had left the United States.

.

Brennan was waiting in the Observation Room for Booth to arrive. He had spent the morning with Caroline Julian working through their summary of evidence, to see if they had a strong enough case to get a Federal warrant to obtain the full cooperation of Ricox Industries in their investigation. Booth believed that Asha had been targeted by the company to get to her brother (now her father).

.

Booth entered the Observation Room. He displayed all the signs of being dragged through the Federal Prosecutors' famed _'Wringer of Sufficient Evidence'_; his tie slightly askew, his waistcoat riding up, Cocky belt buckle off centre by five degrees, and a tightness around his eyes, which Brennan recognised as a sign of frustration and fatigue in her partner.

.

"Was the evidence sufficient for Ms. Julian?" asked Brennan.

"She's _'considering'_ her response, Bones" grumped Booth.

.

"Did she give you a hard time?" Brennan approached and placed her hands on his chest, walking her fingers up his chest in a quest to straighten the tie, after stepping in closer than she usually would do in a work scenario.

Booth swallowed visibly as he saw the light of mischief in her eyes. Today, it seemed that Seeley Booth was destined to be the plaything of strong women; although where Brennan was concerned, he kind of liked it. He breathed in, taking in the comfort of her proximity, visibly relaxing.

"Would you like me to kick her ass?" Brennan teased with a sultry moue, tilting her head into the position that loudly and silently requested the immediate attention of his lips.

"No, Bones. We need that Federal Warrant. But it would be kinda hot to see you try…," he commented as he closed the distance between them and proceeded to attempt to kiss the sultry expression off her face. She let a quiet moan of encouragement escape as his tongue stole into her mouth. Her hands skated over his illia and came to rest on his gluteals, which she squeezed with her strong fingers.

.

"I thought I might find the two of you playing grab-ass around here somewhere! No wonder people are talking about your havin' a baby, if you're forever getting' caught in the Hoover attempting to _'make'_ a baby. A little decorum people!" boomed the voice of Caroline Julian as she entered the room.

.

Brennan was not perturbed by the tirade or the circumstance. Her only concession was to release her grip on Booths' butt cheeks.

"Have you decided to pursue the Federal Warrant, Ms. Julian?" asked Brennan, as Booth disentangled himself and moved out of the firing range of his feisty partner.

"Your partner should have told you that I am still considering your evidence," countered Caroline, with a raised eyebrow.

"Booth informed me that you were deliberating. Do you require more information?" queried Brennan.

"Why ever would you think that, Cherie?" asked Caroline, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I simply dropped by to watch you fondle Agent Booth's derriere. To pass some time until my next appointment, you understand."

.

Brennan glanced at Booth. He was wearing his best poker face, indicating that he was waiting for Caroline to tell them what she really wanted. The Prosecutor did not fail to disappoint them.

"Of course I want more information! I want to hear what your tall, dark, and melancholy friend in the Interrogation Room has to say," ranted Caroline. "Tell me. In between your little make-out sessions, did you get around to telling Ms Mubarak that her brother is actually her Daddy?"

Booth found his voice. "We're heading in there right now to tell her. There are some questions about how she was recruited to work with Ricox Industries that we'll need to ask as well."

.

Booth and Brennan headed toward the doorway, intending to get on with the job.

"Not so fast!" Caroline held up a hand; then she pointed at Brennan. "You, Cherie, need to go in there and correct the family history of that young woman. Agent Booth can stay here until you're done. Then we'll decide what course of action to take."


	19. The Death of a Rabbit

**The Rings in the Heart**

**Chapter 19 - The Death of a Rabbit**

**.**

**Disclaimer: **BONES does not belong to me. *sigh*

**A/N: This is the second to last chapter of this story. Chapter 20 will wrap up the case & then I have an epilogue prepared for you. I hope that you have been enjoying this story, but it is time to bring it to an end. I need to focus on wrapping up a few projects before I move on to the next. Many thanks for all the hits, and reviews - they make my day :)**

* * *

The Hoover Building

In the interrogation room, Brennan was finding the lack of eye contact from Asha Mubarak extremely unhelpful. She had worked through the standard procedure, employing familiar words and phrases that had featured in hundreds of witness and suspect interactions over the years.

"On your previous visit, our Pathologist took a DNA sample from you, in order to exclude or establish your contact with the physical evidence. In this case, there is no physical evidence linking you to his death."

.

Asha shifted her legs under the table and flicked a hooded glance toward the Anthropologist, who almost missed the eye movement behind the curtain of impossibly long and thick eyelashes; they were clearly prosthetic. Brennan continued on, when she received no response.

"Asha, the test results showed that your relationship to Nizam is not that of a sibling. The DNA markers indicate that Nizam was your father. You are twenty years younger than him, which correlates the time of your birth with the period that he spent playing college basketball. During your childhood, were you aware of any questions surrounding your parentage?" asked Brennan.

.

The willowy Emo gave a flat, humourless laugh. "No. But this explains why I was brought back here to the USA. My mother,...grandmother now, I suppose, was adamant that I join Nizam here to attend school." She looked at Brennan, with naked pain in her eyes, eyeliner beginning to bleed down her cheeks.

"I was six years old, Dr. Brennan. My mother sent me away to live with my brother, who did not want me here. When I was thirteen, Nizam married and set up a home in Cairo with his new wife. I remained here, in the States at boarding school. I did everything I could to impress Nizam, when I was growing up. I studied hard, took an interest in his work, tried to follow in his footsteps. It was never good enough. I was never good enough. Now I know that the cause of his disdain toward me, was the shame of my existence."

.

The Anthropologist felt a great deal of empathy for the younger woman. To be separated from your family was one thing; but knowing that you had a family, that they sent you away and kept you away? "You are not responsible for the circumstances surrounding your birth, Asha," said Brennan.

"But I am responsible for Nizam's death. If I had not agreed to the deal with the pharmaceutical company, he would not have confronted them. He may have been alive today. He said that I betrayed him...to betray your brother is a terrible thing. But to betray your father, this is unforgivable. I deserve to die unloved and alone!" declared the Emo.

.

"You may be experiencing extreme guilt, Asha, but you can do something to make it right. You can help the FBI to bring the people who murdered Nizam to justice. Honour his memory," said Brennan.

"I think that is what Nizam would have wanted me to do," conceded the Emo, who's face was streaked so badly, she looked like a fan from a rained-out KISS concert.

.

"Agent Booth needs to ask you some questions now. Would you like to take a break first?" asked Brennan.

Asha shook her head, and pulled a pre-loved tissue out of her sleeve to swipe at her nose. Brennan pushed a box of Kleenex across the table toward her, as Booth entered the room carrying a bottle of water. He bent down to whisper in the Anthropologist's ear, as he briefly placed an open hand on her shoulder.

.

"Nice job, Bones."

Brennan gave a small smile. "Does Caroline need to speak with me before I head home?"

"Yeah, briefly, but Caroline will brief us fully after she meets with the Judge tomorrow morning. I'll see you in a couple of hours, okay?" said Booth. "Unless you want to stick around until I'm done..."

She shook her head. "I could use the time to attend to some outstanding tasks, so I'll see you later on, Booth."

* * *

Sure enough, Caroline Julian was waiting for her in the corridor outside the Interrogation room.

"Walk with me, Cherie!" ordered the Federal Prosecutor, as she bustled off down the corridor toward the break room. Brennan rolled her eyes at the blustering manner, but followed along without complaint. The sooner that she gave Caroline what she needed, the sooner Brennan could get home to her pie project.

As they entered the coffee area, Caroline took the pot of brewed coffee off the heating element and peered suspiciously at the black contents, and sniffed experimentally before pouring a measure into a paper cup.

"Cheap and nasty!" pronounced Caroline. "But right now, my caffeine craving cannot be denied...," she raised a querying eyebrow at Brennan. "You want some?"

Brennan shook her head in the negative. "No, thank you."

"You sure, Cherie? I'm sure that they have some decaf around here for folks getting themselves in the family way..." suggested Caroline.

"I don't know what that means...," said Brennan.

Caroline took a sip of her coffee and grimaced. "Giving up caffeine...whilst you're having a baby. A woman as worldly-wise and intuitive as I am can tell these things. Mark my words! You get yourself down to a doctor and get tested, Dr. Brennan. I guarantee you that the rabbit will die..."

.

Brennan looked perplexed, until she recalled the use of rabbits in the earliest forms of lab testing for pregnancy. "This is you feeling puckish again, Ms Julian? You do know that rabbits are no longer injected with the urine of pregnant women to establish if corpus haemorragica occurs in vivo? Animal testing is cruel, and thankfully, no longer necessary."

The puckish Prosecutor graced the Anthropologist with her most withering stare of disdain. It didn't have much of an effect. Brennan stared back, awaiting an answer.

"I am well aware of that, Dr. Brennan. That 'ole method was around when my Momma found out that I was gonna be more than just a twinkle in her eye. I have a proposition for you Cherie, to put this whole _'is she / isn't she'_ schamozzle to bed once and for all."

.

A small crease appeared on Brennan's brow. "This is proposition is not about the case is it?"

Caroline saluted Brennan with her now half-empty paper cup. "Your partner should have told you that I'll be briefing you in the morning. But apparently what they say about you is right. You are brilliant."

"I know that," replied Brennan. "But based on the last proposition that you put to me, I suspect that your terms will be harsh and heavily weighted in your favour."

"I'm a Prosecutor, Cherie! It comes with the job description," proclaimed Caroline. "So here is the deal. You, go home via a drug store. Pick up one of those home pregnancy kits, and take the damned test. Bring the evidence in to our morning briefing tomorrow. If it's negative, I promise to keep my nose out of your business, period. If it's positive, I get to announce it when the time is right, and you have to admit that my instincts were correct in this matter."

.

By this point, Brennan was feeling a little panicked at being put on the spot by this formidable force of womanhood. She attempted to reason with the Prosecutor. "My body, and it's functions are a private matter Ms. Julian. Not something you can speculate and make conjecture around. I suppose that you have something in mind to force my compliance with your highly unethical request?"

Caroline squared her shoulders and tilted her chin up indignantly. "Why as it happens, yes I do. If you decline to take the itty bitty test to try and prove me wrong, I will feel compelled to share my concerns about your recent fitness following your accident,...and my current suspicions, with Dr. Sweets; strongly suggesting that you be removed from field work until you undertake a full medical examination."

Brennan's jaw dropped. "You're using blackmail on me? Again? Why?"

"Because it works! And sooner or later, Cherie, you have to realise that there are things that have to change in your life. You're too damned valuable to us all to let yourself in harm's way every two minutes. You need to wake up and smell the decaf coffee that you're gonna be drinking for the foreseeable future," explained Caroline, who took the razor sharp edge off her words by placing a hand on Brennan's forearm.

Brennan looked down at the hand on her arm, and looked searchingly at the face of the hard woman, who happened to have a gooey soft centre. "Your proposition is preposterous. How can you be so sure?"

"Trust me, Cherie. Take the damned test!"

* * *

Apartment of Dr. Temperance Brennan

As Booth juggled a box of Thai food and a six pack of beer, he let himself into Brennan's apartment. The aroma of freshly baked pie assaulted his olfactory senses. Bones had baked? He was in love, all over again.

"Hi Honey! I'm home...," he called out loudly in a sing-song voice, wandering toward the kitchen bench to investigate the delicious smell of cooked fruit and pastry. The six pack and boxes of Thai momentarily forgotten, despite the growling complaints from his gut.

"Just a minute," came Brennan's voice from the bedroom. "And don't you dare touch that pie, Seeley Booth!"

Booth's fingers were poised to do just that, but he pulled them away quickly; glancing back toward the bedroom to make sure that he hadn't been caught red-handed. "Mmm! Cherry pie. Oh, Bones, you shouldn't have!"

.

"Cherry Brandy Pie to be precise," she announced walking out with towel dried hair and wearing a long satin happy coat that fell almost to her ankles. "Gordon Gordon, allowed me to use his recipe," she said with a smile.

"Wow! C'mere. I want to thank you properly for this surprise." Booth wrapped his arms around her and she relaxed into a _'hello'_ kiss, which quickly escalated into a _'let's get naked and horizontal'_ kiss.

Brennan broke the kiss reluctantly. This wasn't quite the time to abandon dinner, as tempting as it was to her libido. She gave a grin as Booth's gut growled again, and poked his hard abs playfully. "We need to eat now! I set the table."

"Okay, okay!" Booth sighed dramatically as he reached for the box of takeout. "You want a beer, Bones?"

"I drank some tea while I was baking. Maybe later," she deflected, as she began opening cartons and sat down at the table. "So, how was the rest of the interview? Get any further?"

"Asha was much more forthcoming, thanks to you, Bones," said Booth with a wink. "Tomorrow, when Caroline gets the Federal warrant, we need to speak with the man at the pharmaceutical company who headhunted her. His interest in Asha seems to have a personal motivation that I can't put my finger on."

"Is the connection with Asha, or with her Father, Nizam?" asked Brennan.

"Good question. Both I think. I'm hoping that Charlie and the boys at the Hoover can find out more about Asha's birth mother. I think there's a connection," he replied.

.

After a few minutes of attending to gastronomic needs, they were interrupted by a the ping of an egg-timer in the kitchen. Brennan put down her chopsticks and held up a finger to pause the conversation, because she had a mouthful of food.

"Got something else cooking, Bones?" asked Booth.

"In a manner of speaking," she replied walking back towards her bedroom again. "Something that Caroline asked me to follow up on before tomorrow morning."

Booth shrugged and loaded some more food onto his plate.

.

The test was in the bathroom. It sat in white plastic muteness next to the sink. Brennan shook her head and picked up the white plastic contraption, confident that she was going to put the meddling Prosecutor out of her personal affairs, once and for all.

She flipped the test over and peered at the result window and smiled. She could really do with a beer about now. What a pity. Tucking the plastic pregnancy test in her pocket, she compartmentalised her feelings on the matter and returned to the dinner table, hoping that Booth had left her a second helping of Kung Pao, because she was hungry.

.

"What's up, Bones?" asked Booth as she returned to the table. "Shoulder troubling you again?"

She shook her head, having just placed a mouthful of vegetables and noodles in her mouth. Feeling glad that she was sitting down, convincing herself that the chilies in the dish were causing her skin to flush.

"You look a little pale, Temperance. What did Caroline make you do?" said Booth, concerned again. She really had been pushing herself too hard.

Brennan placed her chopsticks on her plate and reached into her pocket. "She blackmailed me into taking a pregnancy test, Booth. Said she would tell Sweets about her 'suspicions' if I refused. Get me taken out of the field until I take a full medical."

"What the hell! She can't do that..." his voice drifted off as she placed the test on the table. "You did it? Why?"

"Because I wanted to prove her wrong, and I wanted to stop being harrassed over this issue, Booth," she replied.

.

Booth chortled with glee, and pointed at the white plastic square, taking in the look of determination on her face. "So she wants you to take this in to our meeting tomorrow? You're calling her bluff, Bones? Way to go! Caroline is gonna be pissed when you show her and prove her wrong."

Temperance Brennan steeled herself and used an index finger to push the test across the table with a smile twitching at her lips. "So do you want to break the news to Caroline, or should I, Booth?"

He grabbed the test and acted out his speech to the Prosecutor. "So _now Caroline, _you can keep your nose out of our business. This test right here, is proof, see?" He pointed at the result window, looked at it. Did a double take.

.

"We would have discovered it eventually, I suppose," reasoned Brennan.

"Holy shit, Bones!"

"We were careful, but not careful enough it seems. Particularly during the period immediately follwoing the tequila experiment," she explained.

"You're sure?" he asked, still rooted to the spot.

"The test has high sensitivity and specificity. So it is highly likely to be correct. Although a follow up blood test will be required to absolutely exclude a false positive result," she explained.

Booth's body suddenly recalled that it could move, he sprang out of his chair and pulled her up into a standing hug. "Do you know what this means?" he said, completely in shock.

"I believe that in the common vernacular, the rabbit died, and I am pregnant. Would you like a slice of pie, Booth?" she asked, licking her lips.

His eyes narrowed. "Why? Do you want a slice of pie too?"

"I have no idea why it suddenly appeals to me, but it smells delicious," she said.

"Ha! Our kid is giving you a craving for pie! A chip off the old block."


	20. A Crazy Kind of Love

**The Rings in the Heart**

**Chapter 20 - A Crazy Kind of Love**

**.**

**Disclaimer:** I categorically deny owning anything except some BONES DVD box sets. This is a work of parodic fiction which is not intended to infringe upon the rights of FOX & Hart Hanson, etc.

**A/N: Well, this is just about it. This massive chapter wraps up the case, with the exception of an epilogue, of course. Hopefully it has delivered what I set out to do - which was to tell a fun tale of Booth & Brennan working together whilst in a relationship. I hope that you've all had as much fun reading it, as I have done writing it :D**

* * *

Botany Lab - American National University

The FBI Crime Scene technical team had descended upon the lab of the late Nizam Mubarak at 07:00 sharp. They barged into the humid laboratory, itching to take over the area and stake a forensic claim before the Jeffersonian team arrived. It was a petty and long running playground war, but forensic squints took their crime scene one-upmanship very seriously.

Barreling down the main thoroughfare, toward the masses of greenery; the FBI team, toting bags and boxes of equipment, saw the tables ahead that had been set up by the Botany team as their staging area. However, their confident progress was abruptly halted by a ten foot stake, four inches in diameter and coloured fluorescent yellow, being lowered across their path. Half a dozen FBI techs skidded to a halt in a hurry, resulting in a minor dog pile of people and equipment at the rear of the procession. The stake was held by large hands with black lacquered fingernails, belonging to a Jeffersonian jump-suited Fisher, complete with improvised Na'vi-style warpaint in dark loamy smudges on his face.

.

"About time that you guys showed up!" said Hodgins in his most snide tone of superiority. The tone was justified, because this victory over the FBI crime scene techs had effectively crowned Hodgins 'King of the Crime Scene.' "I'm guessing that you stopped off to get donuts for us on your way. Very considerate."

"I hope we're playing nice here, Bug Man!" said Booth, striding into the middle of what was shaping up to be a squinty re-enactment of a Mexican stand-off.

"No problems here, Booth," replied Hodgins smoothly.

"Right...," said Booth, in a tone which suggested that he didn't believe a word of it. He approached Hodgins, and turning his back to the FBI techs, he fixed the bug man with a death glare and growled at him. "Why do you persist in this pissing contest with the FBI crime scene teams?"

Hodgins shrugged, at that moment, the veritable poster boy decorating the side of a carton of _'je ne sais quoi.'_

Fisher took the opportunity to supply the answer to Booth's rhetoric. "Because we can!" This earned a snigger from Hodgins, and he bumped fists with Fisher.

Booth gave a snort of anger. "What is this, some sort of squint smackdown tag team?"

"Is there a problem here, Dr. Hodgins?" asked Brennan who had just arrived on account of being delayed by another bout of nausea within minutes of entering the Botany lab complex. Fortunately, she had made a timely arrival to a bathroom on this occasion, harming the boots of no one in the process.

"None, whatsoever Dr. B!" replied Hodgins, who had opened up a sample jar purposefully. He glanced up to make eye contact with Brennan, his eyes widened with shock. "Whoa! Are you okay? You look a little peaky this morning."

"I am in perfect health, and my shoulder has almost regained full range of motion, thank you for asking," replied Brennan truthfully and evasively. She turned to Booth. "Miss Mubarak will be joining us directly. She is aware that we are due at the Hoover later this morning, to collect the Federal warrant."

"Great, thanks Bones. I'm just going to check on the Agent supervising the seizure of records, okay?" Booth placed a hand on her shoulder, before sliding it along to rub his fingers at the back of her neck. She gave a small smile and nodded.

.

"I apologise for being late, Dr. Brennan," said Asha Mubarak, who had just arrived in baggy black coveralls and an ornate wide studded next collar, accentuating her gothic appearance. She was also wearing scarlet vanity contact lenses that had Brennan doing an involuntary double-take.

"No apologies are necessary, Miss Mubarack," said Brennan briskly. "We appreciate your offer of assistance to our team. Dr. Hodgins will be coordinating the sampling and removal of each of the varieties of tobacco plants present in this lab. We will take them, along with your plant genome reference data, back to the Jeffersonian to conduct a comparative analysis of the plants found in the curing shed in Tightsqueeze."

.

Hodgins looked up at the mention of his name, his bright blue eyes popping wide open at the appearance of their local liaison. "Hello, tall, dark, and Manson!" breathed the bug guy to himself.

Fisher, crouched at the base of a tobacco plant, collecting a soil sample, looked around and dropped his trowel. "Of all the Goth fantasies, in all the labs, in all the world, she had to walk into mine..." said Fisher, his mouth agape.

"Dude!" said Hodgins cringing. "Seriously? Bogart is spinning in his grave right now."

.

Hodgins stood up to greet Asha Mubarak, and Fisher followed, a rapt expression on his face which was very much at odds with his usual melancholic demeanour.

"I'm Dr. Hodgins, and this is Colin Fisher, one of our interns at the Jeffersonian...," said the bug man trailing off as the willowy Emo reached out her extra long phalanges and brushed along the stripes of loam painted on Fisher's face.

"Eltur titxen si," said Asha, a shy smile curling up her mouth at one corner as her index finger ran over Fisher's cheekbone.

"Lor tuté," replied Fisher, gazing into the brimstone coloured depths of the Emo's eyes as they immolated his tortured soul.

Brennan observed the exchange with detached interest; after all, it wasn't every day that the opportunity arose to observe the mating rituals of subcultures. "I didn't know that Mr. Fisher spoke Egyptian," she commented.

"He's a chronically depressed cornucopia of surprises," said Hodgins.

The lead FBI tech cleared his throat. "That isn't Egyptian, Dr. Brennan. She just told him that he is intriguing, and he proclaimed that she is a beautiful woman."

Brennan nodded at the FBI tech, impressed. "It appears that you have considerable linguistic ability. I speak six languages, yet I couldn't decipher their words. How many languages do you speak?" she asked the tech.

He shrugged. "Just English...and a little Na'vi..."

"I've never heard of that dialect," mused Brennan.

"That would be because it is a linguistically engineered language designed for a fictional universe, Dr. B. Never to be used outside movie theatres, or internet chat rooms," chimed in Hodgins.

Brennan pouted thoughtfully. "Until now, it seems. They appear to be engaging in some form of ritual courtship." She glanced at the FBI tech and asked "Do you know how to tell Fisher to get back to work, in this Na'vi language?"

He nodded, and barked out a phrase. "Eltu si!"

.

It had the required effect and the couple snapped back into their respective reserved shells. Brennan smiled at the tech approvingly and returned to her reconciliation of the evidence list of samples required to be collected today. She had perhaps forty-five minutes before she and Booth had to leave to make it to their meeting with Caroline Julian.

The FBI tech directed a superior smile at Hodgins. "I just told them to quit goofing off,"he boasted.

The bug man simply shook his head and spoke earnestly to the sample jar in his hand. "...and people have the nerve to call me a geek!"

* * *

Conference Room - The Hoover Building

Brennan took a sip of peppermint tea and grimaced, before giving a covetous glance at Booth's cup of percolated coffee. He caught her in the act and gave her a grin.

"I fail to see what you find so amusing in my abstention from coffee, Booth!" she grumped at him.

"Aw, c'mon Bones!" he reasoned. "I'm smiling because you look like you're ready to knock me over the head, in order to get your hands on my coffee."

.

She tilted her chin defiantly at the suggestion that she couldn't cope without coffee, even though there was some truth to it.

.

"Perhaps, I would like to get my hands on something other than your coffee, Booth," she countered with a saucy grin.

"Not exactly the right time or place to be going there, Temperance!" warned Booth, leaning in toward her, his voice dropping to a discrete murmur.

"It was simply a statement of fact, _Seeley_. Since when have you had an aversion to the truth_?_" she challenged playfully in a loud whisper, softening the impact of her words by dropping a hand to his firm thigh.

"If the two of you can't manage to keep your hands off each other, I'm gonna have to ask you to sit on opposite sides of this big ole' conference table...and don't think I won't make you!" announced Caroline, as she bustled into the room and took a seat across from them.

.

Brennan sat up and placed her forearms on the conference table, poised for business. "The first batches of tobacco leaf samples from Professor Mubarak's lab are being processed at the Jeffersonian. We hope to have the early mass spectrometry results within the hour, which will hopefully assist us in our enquiries at Ricox Pharmaceuticals this afternoon. Do you have the warrant, Ms Julian?"

The Prosecutor raised an unamused eyebrow at the Anthropologist. "Mmm hmm,...but the first question is, do have something to show me, Dr. Brennan?"

"Yes. I took the test," replied Brennan.

"What test, Bones?" asked Booth innocently.

"The test that Ms Julian asked me to take," replied Brennan in mock evasion, perhaps overacting just a little.

Booth smiled at the Prosecutor. "Bones is a genius, so she's really good at taking tests, Caroline. I don't think she's actually ever failed a test...have you ever failed a test, Bones?"

Brennan unnecessarily made a small pout of reflection and shook her head in the negative. "No, Booth. I have never failed a test. In fact, my academic test scores have always been consistently outstanding."

"It ain't that kind of test, as you are well aware, Dr. Brennan! Are you tellin' me that you took the test without talkin' to Booth about it first?" asked Caroline, her voice rising in pitch and volume along with her ire.

"Oh, Bones!" lamented Booth. "You didn't apply for that automatic weapon permit...? I thought we'd discussed this. Your place is in a good neighbourhood, with almost no gang related violence. There's no need for you to be packing that kind of heat!"

"Enough!" said Caroline, raising her hands in the air. In the deafening silence that followed, Brennan produced the small white piece of plastic that she had removed from her pocket and held it up between her fingers, covering the result window.

"You should know, that were I inclined to deceive you in this matter, I could have easily fabricated this test, Ms. Julian. I have access to world class laboratory facilities, and the knowledge to carry out such a ruse," said Brennan.

Booth dropped the pretence that he had been using to wind up the Prosecutor. "Oh, that test, Caroline?...the one that is absolutely none of your business! Y'know, making a bargain to have us kiss under the mistletoe in exchange for granting some privileges is one thing; but cajoling my partner into taking a pregnancy test, without a reasonable deal in return is kinda low."

"My methods may offend your sensibilities, Cher, but I only have the best interests of Dr. Brennan at heart...and I'll thank you to drop that sassy tone with me, Seeley Booth!" countered Caroline. The Prosecutor's eyes narrowed. "What kind of deal are you talking about here?"

"You don't get to see the test result, and drop the subject, effective immediately," suggested Booth.

.

Caroline gave a derisive snort of mirth. "I think they put decaf in that coffee pot, Agent Booth, because you are fast asleep...and dreaming! Dr. Brennan here cannot be allowed to be placed at additional risk. She's too valuable, even if she isn't carrying your child. Until we know what the outcome of that test is, the two of you have to desist from running around getting shot at, and kidnapped and such."

"Twenty-four weeks!" blurted out Brennan.

"I beg your pardon?" asked Caroline.

"In return for disclosing the positive test result, you have to wait until I am at twenty-four weeks gestation before you can tell anyone about it." Brennan gave a satisfied smile at her tough negotiation line.

Booth put his head in his hands. "Bones. You just gave it away...," he groaned.

"Oh..., I suppose I did," said Brennan, looking slightly crestfallen. She turned to Booth and confided in a loud stage whisper. "Rationally speaking, she would have found out eventually, Booth."

Caroline gave a wide smile. "Well! It seems that congratulations are in order. This joyous news has made me come over all wistful and maternal-like." Dropping her light tone, she narrowed her eyes and fixed Brennan with a beady stare. "I'll stay silent until you're twelve weeks, 'cause there ain't a chance that you can hide a pregnancy for six whole months!"

Brennan glanced sideways at Booth, who rolled his eyes. "I disagree, Ms Julian. Winter will be here in a few months, and with bulkier clothing, I do not believe that my pregnancy will be conspicuous. I would be willing to consider disclosure at twenty-two weeks, in the spirit of this negotiation."

Caroline harrumphed. "Consider? Negotiation? Fourteen weeks, Dr. Brennan."

"Twenty weeks, Ms Julian!" retorted Brennan. Booth groaned and put his head down onto his folded arms on the conference table, unwilling to believe what he was hearing.

"That's a hell of a long time to keep a lid on something. Sixteen weeks! And that is my final offer...," countered the Prosecutor.

Brennan gave a wry chuckle, enjoying herself a little too much. "Eighteen weeks," she said firmly. "The anatomical scan will have confirmed the gender of the child at that juncture, which you may also disclose when you announce the news."

"You drive a hard bargain, Dr. Brennan. You let me throw you a N'Orleans-style baby shower, and you've got yourself a deal," said Caroline.

"Deal!" agreed Brennan, sticking out her hand toward Caroline, shaking on the deal.

Booth looked up and glanced at both women. "I don't suppose that I get any say in this?"

"Absolutely not..." replied Brennan and Caroline together.

.

"The two of you sure are gonna make beautiful babies," mused the Prosecutor.

"I know," said Brennan. "Booth and I are considered very attractive by our societal standards. Our progeny is also likely to inherit high intelligence, in addition to our superior physical attributes."

Caroline frowned and looked at Booth. "I'm not sure I follow..."

"She's agreeing with you, Caroline...," supplied Booth.

"Oh! Then why didn't she just say so?" retorted Caroline, before opening the folder on the table in front of her. "Now. About this warrant..."

.

* * *

Ricox Industries, Washington D.C. office

Stepping into the elevator that would take them to the 20th floor of the Ricox Centre, Brennan was still rubbing at the crease of her elbow absently. They had dropped into her primary health clinic at lunchtime to have a blood test taken, with an official result to be messaged to her in a few hours time.

Booth took advantage of the empty elevator car to canoodle up to his favourite Anthropologist.

.

"Are you okay? Does it still hurt?" he asked.

Brennan rolled her eyes. "It's only a blood draw. I am not afraid of needles."

"D'you want me to kiss it better?" he wheedled teasingly.

"I'd like to see you try," she retorted, poking him in the ribs.

"Hey!" exclaimed Booth, as the elevator chimed and announced their arrival at the 20th floor. "Saved by the bell..."

"We need to put on our gay faces, Booth. Did you bring the warrant document?" she asked, as they stepped out into an artificially lit reception area.

Booth had to brace himself against the wall, suppressing his mirth while he was shielded from view by a large potted artificial shrub. "Oh, Bones...it's 'game' face, okay! Gay faces are for Mardi Gras and Musical Revues."

.

They approached the reception desk and Booth flashed his badge at the receptionist. As they were expected, they were both shown through directly to a small, but well appointed conference lounge which had team photos and award plaques with company logos in frames along the walls. A tall, well built man of around fifty was waiting for them. He stood and made his way over to greet them, extending his hand.

"Welcome to Ricox Industries. I'm Hans Thoarn, Chief of Operations."

Booth shook his hand, Brennan followed suit. "I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth, of the FBI. This here is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan, from the Jeffersonian."

"Please. Take a seat. Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan, can I offer you refreshments?" asked Thoarn.

"That won't be necessary Mr. Thoarn. We're just here to ask you a few questions to assist with our enquiries," replied Booth.

Thoarn took a seat in a low couch opposite them, a wide smile on his face that didn't reach his eyes. "Of course, questions. How can I assist the FBI?"

"Do you know Professor Nizam Mubarak?" asked Booth.

"Yes. I mean, everyone in the pharmaceutical research industry knows him. Our company has had dealings with him in the past. Although not for some years, Agent Booth. He started spending more time back in Egypt, maybe seven or eight years ago. Why? What has he done? asked Thoarn with a smirk.

"If you don't mind, Mr. Thoarn, I'll ask the questions, okay?" said Booth. "How about Asha Mubarak? Do you know her?"

"Yes. Of course I do," replied Thoarn magnanimously. "Asha is contracted via ANU to conduct a research project for Ricox Industries. Unfortunately, due to confidentiality agreements and the proprietary nature of our research, I am unable to answer questions pertaining to our contracted employees, or any details of their work."

"I had a feeling that you might say that, Mr. Thoarn," said Booth, holding up the Federal Warrant. "This is why the FBI prepared this warrant earlier, to obtain your cooperation in this matter. In light of your refusal to answer my last question, you can hereby consider this warrant duly served."

Thoarn blanched, before a flash of annoyance crossed his face, as he leaned forward to snatch the warrant document from Booth's fingers, glancing at the front page. "I see. I'll have to get someone from legal down to look over this, of course. Even though you've named me in this warrant, I'd be breaching my employment contract with Ricox by not following our procedures. I'll have someone down here in two minutes." He stood up and pulled his cell phone from his pocket and speed-dialed a number.

Brennan felt her Smartphone vibrating next to her hand, and glanced at the screen. She tapped Booth insistently on the forearm with one finger. "Okay, Thoarn. You've got two minutes."

Brennan stood and walked toward the window, Booth followed her and they huddled together for a low volume conversation.

.

"That was Hodgins," said Brennan.

"Has he got something?" asked Booth.

"Yes!" she replied. "The genome profiles of the commercial tobacco leaf and the traditional Dokham variety are a match, as is one of the Burley variety leaves. Hodgins suspects that Ricox Industries holds some interest in one of the farms using the tobacco shed in Tightsqueeze. Angela is doing a search of the financial records of the farmers that were interviewed at the crime scene by the FBI."

"So what does that mean, Bones?" he hissed, drawing her by the elbow to the opposite end of the room, where they faced a photo covered wall, feigning interest. Another man, presumably someone from the legal section of Ricox had just arrived. He was waving down Thoarn to stay quiet, while he read the details in the Federal Warrant.

"It means that someone here at Ricox has knowledge of and access to the tobacco drying shed in Virginia, plus the Botany lab at ANU. We just need to find out who that person is, Booth," she explained.

"Well it wasn't Asha," mused Booth. "We've confirmed her whereabouts. She's been inside D.C. city limits for the past six months. Her routine at ANU was logged, as was her access to the secure building complex where she lives."

"Plus the fact that there is no physical evidence linking her to the crime...oh!" she trailed off. She was staring at the photos on the wall her arm stirred Lazarus-like from the side of her body, index finger pointing to the image of a woman, perhaps 40 years of age.

.

Booth placed his hand over her extended wrist, non-verbally encouraging her to stop pointing. "Okay, the photo, I see it. No need to draw their attention to the fact," he whispered, indicating with a small jerk of his head to where Thoarn and his legal advisor were now engaged in an intense whispered discussion.

"The plaque reads: 'Jenna Mackenzie'...," she stated.

"Yeah, I know. I can read that from where I'm standing. 'Director of Pharma...co...kin...something, and Pharma...co...dy...something else'. What does that even mean, Bones?" he asked.

"Ms Mackenzie was Director of Pharmacokinetics and Pharmacodynamics. Two very specialised areas of science that describe how drugs work. The molecular structure and chemical composition of drugs, the various formulations and compounds that they are manufactured into, their in vivo and in vitro behaviour, times to reach peak plasma concentrations, half-lives, excretion routes..." she was stopped by Booth who placed his hand behind her elbow and turned her away from the picture, as he stepped in a little closer to face her.

He kept his voice low. "Okay, Bones, I'll just go with the Sesame Street explanation - 'how drugs work' - no need to give me the college curriculum on the subject."

Brennan gave that small childlike smile of delight that never failed to charm Booths' stripy socks right off. "I loved Sesame Street as a child. In fact, I thoroughly enjoyed all of Jim Henson's Muppets. My favourite character is the Swedish Chef." She flapped her forearms around in front of herself, "Udum schmooden der noodern!" Even with the omission of a white Chef's hat it was a passable impersonation, making Booth smirk.

"I never would have picked that Bones, Beaker the Science Geek, yes, but the Swedish Chef? Beaker reminds me a little of Zach, y'know...'meep meep!'" he said.

"The Swedish Chef is a culinary scientist, Booth. I hope that our own child will gain benefit from exposure to the rudiments of early learning by watching Sesame Street," she said with a grin.

.

Booth placed an arm around her waist and led her back over to the window, glancing at the two men still engrossed in their discussion over the warrant. He surreptitiously placed a hand over her lower abdomen and gave a gentle pat. "Aw, Bones, you're gonna be an awesome Mom...but we really, really need to stay focused here. What's so special about Jenna Mackenzie?"

"I can focus. Her facial structure indicates that she is Asha Mubarack's mother. Making allowances for the expression of Marfan's syndrome in Asha's features of course," she explained.

"So you're saying that Jenna Mackenzie had something to do with this...?" asked Booth.

"Not possible," replied Brennan.

"And why is that, Bones?"

"Because she's dead. According to the plaque below the photograph, she died two years ago. Which begs the question, who else at Ricox Industries found out about this?"

"Let's ask Mr. Thoarn that question, huh?" he suggested.

.

They made their way back over to the couch and took a seat. Thoarn shooed off the legal advisor and returned to his seat opposite them, his earlier self-assurance replaced with anxiety that Booth could spot at fifty paces.

Hans Thoarn kicked off the conversation. "The company legal advisor sends his compliments to whoever compiled that Federal Warrant, Agent Booth. It has no 'wriggle room' from the legal perspective, so I am bound personally, and on behalf of Ricox Industries to answer your questions."

"Just your tax dollars at work, Mr. Thoarn. I'll pass on those compliments to the Federal Prosecutor," said Booth smoothly.

Brennan sat forward in her chair. "Are you aware that Nizam Mubarak is dead, Mr. Thoarn? Murdered?"

Thoarn's jaw dropped in shock. "All of this is about Mubarak? We thought that this had something to do with industrial espionage. Wait? He's dead? Are you sure? Because he goes missing on his eco-warrior adventures for months at a time. Everybody knows that."

Booth placed a restraining hand on Brennan's forearm, he wanted to ask some questions whilst Thoarn was thrown off balance. "We found Professor Mubarak's body, in Virginia. With evidence of foul play."

"Oh, God! That's terrible. The man was an over-principled ass, but he was good at what he did," said Thoarn, still shaking his head. "Does Asha know? They weren't close, they argued constantly, lots of siblings do I suppose...you don't think she killed him, do you?"

"No, Mr. Thoarn," replied Booth. "We know that she had nothing to do with it. Our investigation has cleared her of any involvement. What we want to know, is about the connection between your research project at ANU with Asha, and why Nizam would object to it strenuously enough to get himself killed over it."

"Are you suggesting that someone here at Ricox was involved in this, Agent Booth?" spluttered Thoarn. "We maintain tight controls on our clinical research using legal methods, not by hiring a hit man! Nizam objected to Asha's project because it was examining the feasibility of genetically engineering the superior anti-inflammatory properties of Eastern Dokham tobacco into the more stable Burley variety of tobacco at concentrations found in commercial strains of tobacco. It's just one project in our Burley tobacco series of product research. We're trying to develop a recombinant stable compound that can be used as a powerful anti-inflammatory agent in patients too ill to use standard anti-inflammatory agents, without the side effects of other treatment options such as steroids. Asha's project was called 'Hannah' - Ricox uses palindromic names for all of our recombinant drug research projects."

Brennan took the information on board and spoke up. "Well, it appears that your attempt to Frankenstein the perfect anti-inflammatory agent has failed, Mr. Thoarn. Your Hannah Burley project has been linked to death by poisoning. Someone used the engineered leaf to kill Nizam Mubarak by transdermal poisoning."

Booth glanced at Brennan, pleased at her ability to tie up Thoarn in his own scientific mumbo jumbo. "Yeah, and seeing as the FBI can't lay charges against Hannah Burley, we need to find out who was responsible for wrapping it around our victim and charge them instead. Seeing as Ricox head-hunted Nizam's daughter to do the research, you can see why we're looking for the connection here."

"That wasn't a factor when we contracted Asha to work on the Hannah project," said Thoarn.

Booth sat back into the couch, relaxing slightly. "You knew that Asha was Nizam's daughter. She is known as his sister; even Asha didn't know it herself until a couple of days ago. So tell me, Hans, how did you know that she was his daughter?"

Thoarn back-pedalled, "I must have made a mistake, Agent Booth! I didn't..."

"Yes. You did, Mr. Thoarn. Because Jenna Mackenzie was your sister," said Brennan. Having had the opportunity to further study the facial structure of this man, she was convinced of this after seeing the photograph on the wall.

"My sister is dead, Dr. Brennan, leukaemia. She had nothing to do with this!" replied Thoarn getting angry.

"It had everything to do with it," said Brennan. "Because your sister had a child with Nizam Mubarak twenty years ago, and that child is Asha."

Booth took this new development in his stride. "Not a very nice way to treat your niece, Uncle Han. So why'd you do it? Revenge? Petty jealousy? Money?"

.

Thoarn broke under the weight of the truth. "It was an accident, I swear!" he wept. "Mubarak threatened me, threatened to tell Asha about her heritage before her twenty-first birthday. When he took full custody of Asha, like Jenna wanted, the agreement was that she wouldn't be told. The Thoarn's are old money, Agent Booth. Jenna was seventeen, it was a scandal, and we swept it under the carpet, gave Mubarak some money to support Asha's upbringing to make it go away. She moved on with her life, married; never had any other children though. Mubarak came up to see me at our house in the Hamptons a few weeks ago, stayed overnight. He used those archaic Dokham leaf poultices on his damaged knees, like the goddamned peasant that he was, swore by them. I swapped the leaves he used with some of the Hannah Burley variety that I had collected from the Tightsqueeze drying shed. I thought that it would give him some nausea and diarrhoea, due to them being a bit stronger. I had no idea that his putting Hannah Burley against his skin would kill him."

Booth knew that Thoarn was still holding back his true motive for concealing the 'accident'. "So if there was an agreement between Jenna and Nizam about Asha being told about her mother on her twenty-first birthday, was there something in Jenna's Will for Asha too."

"Yes," admitted Thoarn, with tears rolling down his face.

"Enough 'somethings' to ruin your controlling interest in Ricox Industries?" asked Booth.

Thoarn nodded.

.

"Hans Thoarn. Please stand. You are under arrest for the murder of Nizam Mubarak, interference with human remains, and transporting a corpse across state lines."

"And for being responsible for the development of Hannah Burley. You used science to cause harm," chimed in Brennan.

Thoarn remained mute as Booth continued to Mirandise him, wincing as the cuffs snapped around his wrists. Regaining a little composure, Thoarn faced Brennan.

"The development of Hannah Burley has a greater purpose, Dr. Brennan. As a woman of science, you should know that. If we achieve something with this development in a month, or a year, or five years, that saved someone you love...would it redress the balance?"

Brennan paused, her hand unconsciously resting where her own growing future hopes for fulfillment lay. "I will concede that the path of discovery is littered with failures, Mr. Thoarn. But you stepped outside the safety of the scientific method, causing harm that resulted in the death of Nizam Mubarak and will cause lasting pain for his family, and your family too. Personally, I cannot bring myself to condone your actions."

Booth made a call on his cell phone to arrange for Agents to collect Thoarn. He guided the defeated man by the upper arm. "C'mon, Pal. Time to go."

* * *

The Founding Fathers Bar

The Squint Squad had congregated in their corner of the bar, with the first round of drinks already being consumed, as they waited for Booth and Brennan to join them for celebration drinks. Hodgins was relating the story of Fisher's first meeting with Asha Mubarak.

"They ate lunch together, debating whether the Twilight Saga should be classified as Gothic literature," said Hodgins.

Angela gave a low chuckle. "I'm not even sure if it's legal to use 'Twilight' and 'Literature' in the same sentence, Jack."

Cam snorted with laughter. "It could be another match made in heaven...speaking of which...here comes one now..."

.

Brennan opened the door to the Founding Fathers, entering with Booth on her heels. They paused briefly as Brennan reached into the pocket of her trench coat to read a text message on her cell phone. Whatever was in the message made her smile broadly, she waved the phone in front of Booth's face, until her grasped her wrist in both hands to steady the screen of the device in order to read the message. He grinned and let go of her wrist to pull her into a brief hug, before they headed over to where their co-workers were sitting.

"Good news, Dr. Brennan?" asked Cam, nodding at the cell phone.

"Yes. It was," replied Brennan, not disclosing any other details. "I see that you are all just about ready for another drink. I'll get the next round. Same again, everyone?"

Hodgins and Cam nodded, but Angela frowned at the dregs in her champagne glass. "I'll have what you're having, Sweetie. I'm not in the mood for champagne tonight." Brennan nodded and made her way over to the bar to place an order.

"Not in the mood for champagne? Wow, Ange! Call the Washington Post, have we got a story for them!" quipped Hodgins, receiving a slap to his bicep in reply.

Booth laughed at Hodgins, and when Brennan returned he took his seat next to her after she had scooted along the curved bench seat to settle next to Angela.

"I'm starving," announced Booth, picking up the menu.

"I am also hungry, I could eat something," said Brennan, trying to grab the menu from his hands. Booth gave a melodramatic sigh and unfolded the large menu until they were almost hidden behind it.

"Mmm!" said Booth thoughtfully. "I'd like some of this..." He leaned in toward Brennan and stole a kiss.

"That is not on the menu, Booth!" she replied a few moments later.

"Oh yes, it is!" he countered, proving it by taking another kiss.

Angela tapped on the edge of the laminated menu. "Guys, we know exactly what you're doing behind there. Just so we're clear, the Founding Fathers is for 'glug glug, woo-hoo'. Back at your place is 'bow chicka wow-wow', okay?"

.

The menu was reluctantly placed back on the table, as the drinks arrived. Glasses were passed around, and Booth decided to place an order for food. Brennan handed a Mojito to Angela, which she sipped and immediately screwed up her face.

"Gah! there is almost no booze in this! Is it amateur hour behind the bar tonight?" complained Angela.

Brennan realised that there had been a mix up. "Here Angela, try mine," she said, pushing her glass toward her friend.

The artist braced herself and took a sip, breathing a sigh of relief as she did so. "Oh, thank God they got one right. I'll get Hodgins to go get a replacement..." she was stopped by a hand on her arm. Looking up, she found Brennan with a serious expression on her face.

"I asked for my drink that way. I was going to tell you tonight anyway, because you are my best friend, and this is what best friends do. But right now, I'd prefer it if you kept the news to yourself...please?" Brennan passed her cell phone over with the message from the pathology laboratory.

Angela frowned as she looked at the result, then her face lit up as she put the message and mocktail together. "Oh. My. God!" she murmured. "Bren...Wow!"

Brennan held up her Mock-Mojito to toast her glass with her BFF. "Here's to 'Wow'."

.

* * *

**Post Script A/N: This chapter started out at just over 2000 words, before it ran away into the monster that you've just read. The section at Ricox Industries somehow turned into a not so subtle commentary about season 6 angst, but hopefully you got a laugh out of it (and worked out the anagram).**

**There will be an epilogue for this story, which is just requiring some finishing touches after I complete the next chapter of Progeny. Thanks again for reading. Really. Thank you. If you feel the urge to de-lurk and post a review, you'll be in the running to win a virtual shirtless Booth (sorry, shirt not included - you'll have to think of some way to keep him warm yourself...I know you'll think of something!)**


	21. Epilogue

**The Rings in the Heart**

**Chapter 21 - Epilogue**

.

**Disclaimer:** Readers should be really, really glad that I do not own BONES.

**A/N: Hi everyone! Thank you so much for reading and following this story, and its predecessor, 'Tequila' - I recently took the time to read through both stories again and all the reviews before writing this epilogue. I laughed a lot at myself, and got lots of warm fuzzies from the excellent comments that you took the time to send to me. I'd love to respond personally to every single one of you - but the sad truth is that I barely get time to write updates these days.**

**As for the question of a continuation of this storyline...I'm not sure that I have a trilogy in me. There are a few projects that I have up my sleeve, so I'm not vanishing. Plus, 'Progeny' has some heavy chapters ahead and I really want to put the effort in there.**

**If you are reading this story in it's entirety, as a completed fic, I urge you to drop a belated review. I would love to have feedback from folks who read this story as a completed piece. I can see in the stats that hits still happen on all of my stories, as people read my back catalogue.**

* * *

December 21st - 04:00

Temperance Brennan had inexplicably been suffering with insomnia for the past four weeks. It seemed that no amount of warm milk, warm baths, or warm Boothy attentions, could prevent the inevitable four a.m. wake-up call. Her attentive partner remained empathetically eager to share the experiences of impending motherhood with her, even though it was completely illogical, it was comforting. Ironically, the warm milk, baths and booty calls worked wonders on Seeley Booth, who slept so soundly of late that he barely stirred when she rose from their bed to head to the bathroom, before padding over to the window, to look out onto the dark, freezing streets of D.C.

She looked down at her toes, which could still be seen. That was going to change, along with many other things. Officially at eighteen weeks and three days into her pregnancy, it was with predictable equanimity, that she faced the first festive season without alcohol that she could recall in her adult life. Even when working on projects in strict Muslim countries, some gung-ho expatriate inevitably took the risk and smuggled, or distilled, booze for the occasion. Today was the Winter Solstice, a mercifully short day that Brennan wished to be over. It was also the day of the baby announcement by Caroline Julian, which was being officially touted as Christmas drinks at The Jeffersonian. The rapid growth of her baby bump and an increase in the size of her already ample bust-line in the last couple of weeks, had made the ongoing concealment of her pregnancy quite difficult. Ms Julian had been making pointed remarks indicating that she, and possibly _'even poor blind folks, sure as hell could tell' _that she was pregnant now. The anatomical scan had been done yesterday, but she had elected to withhold the gender news from the Prosecutor until the last possible moment. Sure, Caroline got to make the announcement, a deal was a deal, but Temperance Brennan was determined to get the last laugh. She had kept the Prosecutor in the dark for four weeks and two days. Surely she could manage one more day?

.

Four weeks and three days previously, she had attended the wedding of Mr. Fisher to Asha Mubarak, with Booth and the Jeffersonian team. Within hours of meeting, the emotionally challenged couple had declared themselves _'soul mates'_. A short and angst-filled courtship ensued; delectably dragged down by the deepest, darkest tones of lust, followed by an announcement of their intention to join in unholy matrimony soon thereafter. Justification for the union was evidenced by the well-known fact that, once married, most people inevitably ended up desperately unhappy. Angela asserted that this universal truth was the founding tenent behind the genesis of the Country and Western music genre, although this could not be substantiated. Nonetheless, it was just the kind of adventure that the Emo couple wanted to suffer together, one which could even hasten the eventual departure from their emotionally seized mortal coil. In retrospect, Brennan had been completely unprepared for the bizarre events of that day.

Hodgins had predicted that the nuptials would be a cross between The Rocky Horror Picture Show and the Twilight trilogy. Brennan had Googled the references in preparation, of course, and conceded that her colleague had accurately picked the tone of the day. Aside from the Jeffersonian crew, the heavily pierced and largely gender confused guests of the couple, arrived decked out androgynously in black and studs, black and chains, black and body art, and of course, classic black on black. It was also apparent that they had depleted local supplies of white shimmering cosmetic foundation, liquid eyeliner and black lipstick in honour of the occasion. As for the ceremony itself; it was more sombre than a wake, filled with long awkward silences and smouldering stares that promised passion and sex, as soon as the mood stabilising meds kicked in.

.

The dress code for the event was black, so Booth had worn a charcoal three piece suit that had attracted many a smouldering stare from those gathered, including that of an acutely aroused Anthropologist. Brennan had worn a simple black A-line dress, with pewter toned panels forming deep pleats in the skirt, drawing eyes away from her thicker waistline. A gauzy cotton wrap completed the concealment for the outfit. Angela had helped her pick out the dress, but had been called over on the morning of the wedding to release some of the darts in the garment, allowing for the sudden increase in girth that had occurred in the ten days since it was purchased. A phone call from her primary physician as they completed the dress re-fitting asked her to drop by the office immediately. Seeing as Angela was handy, and Booth was currently with Hodgins, keeping the Groom away from sharp objects to ensure that he made it to the ceremony, Brennan and her BFF arrived at the doctor's office dressed in their sombre splendour.

* * *

Four weeks and three days previously (or November 23rd if you want to be precise about it...)

Brennan was called through to see her Physician immediately and returned ten minutes later looking like she'd had a Goth extreme makeover. The physician's assistant hovered nervously next to the tall pale lady in black, ushering her over to sit next to her exotic looking friend in the black full-length silk Chinese dress, accessorised with a black tulle fascinator and four-inch strappy stilettos.

.

"Bren? Are you okay, Sweetie?" asked Angela, sliding off her seat to kneel at the feet of her ashen-faced friend, giving half the waiting room an eyeful of toned leg as the thigh high split in her dress gaped open. Well, the male half of the waiting room at the very least.

Her friend stated in a shocked monotone. "My AFP test was abnormal, Ange."

"The test for birth defects that you had this week? Oh my God! Do you want me to call Booth?" Angela was tearing up.

"That won't be necessary," said Brennan. "My Physician took one look at me and with the aid of an ultrasound, deduced the reason for the spurious result. For some reason, he had even offered to place a wager on the outcome."

"Okay, now I'm totally confused," protested the artist. "Do you wanna come straight out with it, Sweetie? Or do I have to go all Texan Street Fighter on your doctor to beat it out of him?" Angela arched a sculpted brow at the wide-eyed physician's assistant. "Don't let this pretty dress fool you, Honey, I'll do it."

Taking a deep breath and clinging to her lifeboat of science, Brennan explained. "The abnormal result is due to multiparity, Angela."

"English, Brennan!...I know it's usually your line, but, I don't know what that means!" Angela implored, grabbing the hands of her friend and squeezing them between her own.

"Twins."

"Oh! Thank God!" yelled Angela, making every remaining head in the waiting room turn toward her.

Brennan frowned as much as her shell-shock state would allow. "This is not an Act of God. It is now apparent that I produced two ova, which were both fertilised by..."

Angela held up a hand to halt what would undoubtedly ruin an as yet unspoiled rendition of Booth and Brennan sexy fun times. "Yeah, I know how that bit happens, Sweetie. I may be an Artist, but I did graduate high school."

"They gave me a photo," said Brennan, holding up a four by four glossy.

"Ooh! Let me see! Aww, it's Tweedle-Bren and Tweedle-Booth!"

Brennan looked at Angela earnestly. "We haven't decided upon any names yet, Angela. But I can say with certainty, that I would reject those names outright."

"Bren. Just stop talking and give me a hug already!" said Angela.

* * *

December 21st - 04:15

It had started to snow outside during her reverie. Brennan turned away from the dark vista of D.C. at her window. Dawn was still almost three hours away. Booth was still sprawled out asleep, his face unlined and unworried in repose. She recalled his face when she had slipped him the grainy monochrome ultrasound image at the wedding, just after the terminally tormented couple had vowed to a life of moody misery together. As the newly-weds exchanged vials of blood and signed their marriage license, predictably, Booth asked what he was supposed to be looking at in the photo. So she drew his attention to the white type faced labels with small arrows. He'd mouthed the words 'Twin A' and 'Twin B' as his eyebrows attempted to defect to his hairline. The resulting grins on their faces attracting pointed stares from those gathered at the event. Assuming more appropriately somber expressions, Booth had grabbed her and very seriously French kissed her; providing the congregation with a smorgasbord offering vicarious thrills, an educational experience, or a trigger for self-harm, dependent upon the the mental state behind the eye of the beholder.

.

Although they stuck to their plan for an eighteen week reveal, her field-work had ceased, effective immediately. After four long weeks, valid reasons for Brennan not leaving the lab were wearing thin. On the forensics platform, she had also taken to wearing an oversized apron over her lab coat in the past couple of weeks, the puzzled looks that her colleagues directed at her were, as usual, completely wasted on her.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling the fluttering fetal movements which had never failed to make her smile since the day they had begun.

.

"Are they playing tag team in there again?" asked the husky sleep-laden voice next to her. "Come back to bed, Bones. It's early. It's cold. I'll warm you up..." he offered. She could almost hear the cocky smile in the darkness, as she felt the warmth radiating from under the bedding that he had drawn back. The invitation was duly accepted.

"Hey, it's coming out day. You can start wearing clothes that show off your amazing new figure..." he said, more awake now annd running his hands over the evidence.

She gave a derisive snort and slugged him lightly in the shoulder. "Charmer. My new Winter wardrobe is largely comprised of shapeless maternity items. Angela tells me it is the fashion penalty for choosing to be with a man as virile as you are."

"Ha! My virility is the inspiration for your Winter fashion collection? What about your virility? The responsibility for that whole 'two for the price of one' deal is all yours," he said, moving his hand up to shift some errant locks of hair that were falling across her face.

"You make me sound like a coupon. Are you going to redeem me?" she asked.

"Nuh uh. I wouldn't trade anything for what I've got with you, Bones. You're a keeper," he stated in complete honesty.

She paused to take the impact of his statement onboard, and worried her bottom lip between her teeth until she composed herself. "Your fierce loyalty to me is one of the things that I love about you, and something that I've always known that I could reciprocate," she admitted candidly in kind. "You should know, that in many ways, you are my redeemer."

She felt his smile as it interrupted his nibbling progress along her jawline. "Like religious redemption?" he asked. "Because you can't be saved from sins you don't subscribe to..."

She gave a low chuckle and wriggled in a little closer to him, using him as a Boothy body pillow. "No. Not that kind of redemption. I have come to realise that your presence in my life, even before we transgressed into the sins that you subscribe to, has saved me...from myself; from a life of solitude, where I shunned deeper connections; from an existence where I would never discover that something can remain after the epinephrine, norepinephrine and dopamine dissipates. You saved me, Booth."

He gave a faux-growl of arousal and gently teased her, as was his habit when she got overly serious; which was frequently. "You get me so hot when you talk body chemistry, baby. So tell me, when all the feel good chemicals wear off, what's left?"

Brennan tilted her head up until their noses touched and answered, low, slow and measured. "You. Me. Love. The Laws of Physics."

"You saved me too, Bones. Not just in the line of duty either. So that would make you my redeemer," he said.

"Do you have something to confess?" she teased.

"Not unless you're planning on posing as a priest," he joked.

"So you're suggesting that we're co-redeemers?" she asked seriously.

"Yeah. We saved each other, Bones." He paused thoughtfully as her tip of her nose attempted to seduce his own. "Co-redeemers. I like the sound of that. But let's not tell Sweets, he'll write a book about it or something."

* * *

December 21st – 8:00 p.m.

Christmas drinks were well underway, with the volume of merriment from the revellers on the Mezzanine floor of the lab echoing through the cavernous complex. Wendell and Hodgins had manufactured an alcoholic beverage that would likely land them in jail if they attempted to transport it across state lines. Of course, it was incredibly strong, and of course, everyone consumed it; with the exception of Brennan, who was still closeted away in her office, legitimately completing paperwork. The snow had continued to fall all that day, so she had arrived in multiple concealing layers of clothing, bringing along a change of clothes for the evening reveal.

When Booth entered her office, she was putting on earrings and selecting a necklace, having changed into the outfit that she had purchased for the occasion; a flowing dark emerald velvet dress cut to both accommodate and draw attention to her latest creative effort.

.

"Here. Let me get that," he said coming up behind her as she battled around the sleeves of the dress to manipulate the catch of the necklace.

"Thanks," she said, smiling as his warm fingers fumbled with the catch as she held her hair out of the way. Then laughing as he took the opportunity to kiss her exposed shoulder.

He stepped back as she turned around. "Wow. You look amazing...and very pregnant."

"Yes. I know. I feel unaccountably nervous...and enormous," she said, grabbing a wrap that she held strategically over her forearm.

He held out his arm. "C'mon, let's get upstairs. They're waiting for you, Bones." They headed up toward the sounds of tipsy squints and Sinatra crooning Christmas classics.

.

The party was in full swing, but silence fell as a sharp whistle rang out. Heads turned toward Caroline who held up a wine glass and called for silence.

"Finally! Dr. Brennan is gracing us with her presence. I have a few words that I want to say while you're all still compos mentis!" She pointed at Clark. "You there! Fine lookin' Brother in the snazzy suit. Put the gag on Bing Crosby. I can't be expected to talk while he's dreamin' of a white Christmas!"

"Amen to that, Sister!" muttered Clark as he muted the CD player.

All eyes were on the Prosecutor now. "Well. Isn't this...pleasant. The whole Jeffersonian Team with some of their FBI colleagues and loved ones, celebrating Christmas together."

Glasses were raised and a few loose cheers emerged.

.

"I'm not finished people! My main reason for joining you this evening is to announce a few changes coming in the New Year. Dr. Brennan has a special project she's been workin' on, which will take her on sabbatical soon." Caroline waved Brennan to come forward. "Come over here, Cherie. Let's tell the nice folks about it. Now don't be shy..."

Booth placed a protective arm around her waist and they went to stand next to the Prosecutor. Brennan, holding her wrap in front of her, handed Caroline an envelope that had a copy of the anatomical ultrasound report inside. As she opened the envelope she began her main announcement.

"Y'all don't need to worry about Dr. Brennan here, of course. You see, she and her partner are going to be blessed with a baby," said Caroline with a wide smile as she extracted the report from the envelope in the stunned silence which descended over those present.

"Babies, Ms. Julian," corrected Brennan, as Cam's jaw dropped in recognition of the distinction.

"Mmm hmm! I hear you Cherie. If I were in your shoes, with that man, I'd be heading back for more too..."

Brennan handed her wrap to Booth. "No. There will be two babies. As in twins. It's in the report, but if you consider my size against gestation, it is an obvious conclusion."

The silence was now deafening, as Caroline looked at the summary paragraph on the report in her hands. "A boy and a girl? Twins?" She glanced at Brennan, finally taking in the evidence that had been referred to. "My. You most definitely have more than one child on the way." She eyed Booth. "Why didn't you tell me she was hiding this from me?"

"Hey. Don't look at me for this Caroline," Booth retorted. "I warned you it was a bad idea to make a deal with a genius."

"Well...congratulations to the two of you anyway. Merry Christmas." Caroline condeded defeat with a wry smile and hoisted her wine glass.

.

The party had stalled, with people aghast and staring suspiciously at their drinks, wondering if they contained something more exotic and hallucinogenic than alcohol.

"Were you aware that twenty-two percent of twins are left-handed, compared to only ten percent of the general populace?" asked Vincent Nigel Murray into the silence.

Brennan replied. "No. Mr. Nigel Murray, I was not aware of that fact. But thank you for bringing this to my attention," she replied.

The spell was broken as a dozen people suddenly made a beeline toward the couple, still reeling at the news.

.

Lance Sweets had arrived on the Mezzanine with Daisy Wick wondering why the noise had suddenly ceased as he ascended the stairs; just as Brennan corrected the Prosecutor, by saying _'Babies, Ms. Julian' _and handed her wrap to Booth. Due to the immutable fact that light travels faster than sound; the visual cortex of the Psychologist saw Dr. Brennan, did a double-take, triggering his ego to perform a mental head-slap on himself, before his auditory centre even registered the word _'babies'._

When the revellers snapped out of their collective shock, Daisy grabbed his arm. "Oh. My. God! Dr. Brennan is so pregnant," she exclaimed. Then as an intelligent aside to Sweets, she confided loudly. "Her antalgic gait is a _total_ giveaway."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious!" said Hodgins to Daisy as he handed her and Sweets a Martini glass. "Drink up, before it evaporates. This stuff is guaranteed to fix whatever ails you."

"I'll drink to that, Dr. Hodgins," said Cam as she arrived for a refill.

"Hey, Cam. You're a medical doctor. Did Dr. B manage to fool you too?" asked the bug man.

"I'd noticed that she had gained a little weight, but I put it down to her being happy with Booth," said Cam, taking a sip of her refill, coughing a little as the alcohol resurfaced her oesophagus on the way down. The Pathologist held up a finger. "Actually, come to think of it, I should have realised. Dr. Brennan habitually frequents my office to raid my chocolate stash, which she stopped doing after that case when she dislocated her shoulder."

"Chocolate? Why would that clue you in?" asked Hodgins.

Angela rolled her eyes at the man who professed to _'know'_ women. "Bren is a chocolate fiend when she gets PMS. Pregnant equals no PMS, so no raiding Cam's candy stash."

Hodgins nodded sagely. "Well at least I know where to score free candy now," he said to Cam.

"You'll be needing to grow yourself a set of lady parts before you try it, bucko. Good luck with that!" said Cam saluting him with her drink.

Vincent Nigel-Murray sidled up to the group. "Did you know, that identical twins have discernibly different fingerprints?" he asked.

Cam tipsily raised her Martini glass. "I knew that!"

"Well, I didn't..." said Angela.

Hodgins refilled the glass of the Englishman. "Here. This should help..."

"Who? Me?" asked Vincent.

"No. Us," retorted Hodgins.

.

Booth handed a cup of fruit punch to his more relaxed partner. "You okay, Bones?" he asked.

"I'm a little fatigued, and perplexed as to why people persist in attempting to touch my abdomen. Otherwise, I'm fine," she replied.

"It's something that people do around pregnant women. Do you want me to shoot them?" he asked her.

Brennan laughed. "No. That won't be necessary. I do find it fascinating, observing my inebriated colleagues whilst sober."

.

December 21st – 10:00 p.m.

Draped drunkenly on one corner of a long couch next to Caroline Julian, Mr. Nigel Murray sprung to life as another factoid bubbled through his haze of alcohol. "In the 1700's, a woman in Russia gave birth to sixteen sets of twins, seven sets of triplets, and four sets of quads."

Clark Edison, who was currently pacing himself by drinking a virgin banana daiquiri, gave Vincent a withering glance. "I'll keep that in mind, should I ever consider having unprotected sex with a Russian woman."

Wendell shook his head. "Man. Can you imagine the alimony?"

Caroline eyed Mr. Nigel Murray suspiciously. "Someone care to tell me who let in the know-it-all Canadian?" she demanded.

Vincent stood and stared down to meet the gaze of the Prosecutor with bravery that only 170 proof alcohol could provide. "Madam. I am no more Canadian than you are. I am British, and at your service." He gave a courtly bow.

"Damned straight I'm not Canadian!" said Caroline indignantly.

.

Vincent was unperturbed by the dangerous tone in her voice, he held up his index finger and proclaimed. "If you moved to Hawaii, you would have a thirty percent lower chance of conceiving twins...assuming that you were still of childbearing potential, of course."

Brennan, watching the exchange from the opposite couch, smothered a snort of laughter. "Now that was amusing, Booth. There is no possibility that Ms. Julian would still be able to conceive a child."

He didn't get a chance to answer, due to the screech of protest from the now irate Prosecutor. "Booth! Is he for real? Because I can call a judge and get him deported. Send him back to wherever he came from. They're welcome to him!"

Booth made his way around to the trouble-zone, grabbing the Englishman under one arm to frog-march him out of range, towards the more sober Wendell near the coffee pot. "C'mon pal. Before she makes me shoot you. I'd have to do it, you know and she'd get me off the charges. Yo' Wendell, give the Limey a quart of coffee and call him a cab, okay?"

"Sure thing, Booth," replied Wendell with a nod. "Is Dr. B. okay man? She's looking kind of tired."

"Yeah. Trouble sleeping. I should get her home," replied Booth as her turned to the task of convincing his partner to leave.

.

December 21st – 10:10 p.m.

Surprisingly, it hadn't taken any convincing at all. Ten minutes later, they were bundled up against the freezing cold, waiting for a cab. They were taking shelter in the front entrance to the building. Two inches of snow had fallen on the steps already, swirling eddies of snowflakes signalling a serious overnight deposit for the streets of D.C.

Brennan took off her knitted hat and descended half-way down the steps before stopping and tilting her head back to feel the snowflakes landing on her face, hands extending palms upward and outward from her sides.

"Bones? What are you doing? You're gonna catch pneumonia!" protested Booth.

She laughed. "Pneumonia is caused by a bacterial or viral vector, not exposure to snow!"

Still looking up to the snowflakes that now appeared to be aiming directly at her, she smiled. "I used to do this as a child. Let myself out into the back yard before bedtime, when it was dark and quiet and snowing. Feeling the snowflakes tickle as they landed on my face, before the heat from my skin became the catalyst that transformed them from solid to liquid state. Simple science lessons from interactions with nature."

Booth had joined her from his sheltered position. He stood on the step above her. With her head tilted back, she could see him clearly to her right.

"I just built snowmen, stockpiled snowball ammo to use on my Bro, and made the occasional snow angel," said Booth.

She returned to a normal pose. "I did all those things too, Booth. I was a normal child in many respects. I hope that our own children will experience the simple joys of childhood."

He began brushing the snowflakes from her hair, as she wiped some of the melted flakes from her face with her scarf.

"Here, put your hat back on," he said, placing it on her head as her own gloved hands met with his to pull it down over her ears.

"We may end up being snowed in tonight. Cam suggested that we work from home until the streets are cleared," she said.

"I'm on call," he mused. "Hopefully the snow will keep the bad guys off the streets, so I can stay home with you."

"Hopefully," she agreed. "Unless someone murders another Santa Claus this season..." she suggested with a smile.

He placed his arms around her shoulders for a _'guy plus little guys hug'_. It was getting more awkward to achieve as the weeks progressed, but was still fun trying. "After this Christmas, when we've got the whole Santa myth to maintain every year, you'll have a whole different perspective on the old jolly guy getting bumped off. Kids make Christmas a completely different experience."

"I suppose that's true. Will it also mean that sex under the Christmas tree becomes a problem?" she asked. "If it does, then Christmas will indeed never be the same again."

"Eh. We just have to change our M.O. a little," he replied, warming her face between his hands.

"How so?" she asked.

He gave that sexy chuckle which never failed to warm her from the inside. "We just wait until the kids are in bed asleep, before I get to unwrap you under the Christmas tree."

"I can adapt to those conditions," she surmised.

.

The arrival of the cab broke their moment, so they headed carefully down the remaining snow covered stairs to reach the kerb. Brennan got into the cab and gave the driver their address, as Booth made his way around to the other side of the vehicle so she didn't have to scoot over the backseat.

"Instead of warm milk to help me sleep tonight, I think I would prefer Hot Chocolate," she said decisively as the cab exited the Jeffersonian complex.

"Fine by me. I love Hot Chocolate...with marshmallows," he said with a grin.

"If you get marshmallows, then I get to unwrap you under the Christmas tree tonight," she retorted with a seductive smile.

"I can live with that arrangement," he capitulated, as he placed an arm over her shoulder.

"That makes two of us," she agreed.

* * *

FIN


End file.
